Song of A Northern Sorcerer
by ffdrake
Summary: Darth Nox crash lands onto the frozen land of the North after barely escaping an ambush from the Zakuul Empire. Alone and without resources and with no hope of rescue, Nox decides to make the best of his situation and attaches himself to nearest available option until he can rebuild his powerbase and influence. And with his arrival, the fate of Westeros will be forever changed.
1. The Arrival

**So yeah…I know, I'm starting a new story here. I apologize for everyone who's waiting for the next installment of IATB, but the muse just isn't working with me right now on that arc. I am still working on it, believe me I'm trying, but I just can't get my mind on it.**

**For those who are fans of my 'Song of the Master of Death', I am not happy with the way that one has been going. So I'm going to rewrite that one. There are parts that I liked, but if you've read my author notes, I went into that one without an outline and was just free writing it. So not my greatest. I'll probably go back to it at some point, but not right now.**

**So, how this story started. A short time ago the talented ****Tellemicus Sundance**** contacted me with an idea about a SW/GOT(ASOIAF) crossover. And funnily enough, I actually had a similar story bouncing around in my head. So, we decided that we would brainstorm with one another and beta read each other's stories. So please, if you've bothered to read this far into the A/N, please check out ****Tellemicus Sundance's**** new story, 'The Jedi of the North'. Now, seeing as how we are brainstorming with one another, and seeing as how the ideas were similar to begin with, if you read both you will more than likely notice some similarities between our two stories. But trust me, they will be a bit different.**

**As for the cross, I'm going off more the ASOIAF rather than the TV show. Honestly, the main thing that I'll be using from the TV show is the increased age of the characters (meaning at the start of GOT Jon/Robb/Dany will be 16, starting at 299AC). Also, there will be a pairing, and it's pretty much decided on how they'll go. The only thing I'm unsure of is if I'm gonna be given a little more love to some characters (more than one partner). Up in the air. And unlike 'Song of the Master of Death', I've actually outlined most of this story, plot points, dates, pairings, ending, just about as much as I can. So hopefully this one will flow much smoother than my previous crossover.**

**Anyway, hope that you all enjoy, and again, a huge shout out to ****Tellemicus Sundance**** for the help with brainstorming and proofreading. And please, check out their story as well! It's really really good!**

**One last thing, while I will be using the SI Darth Nox again, it is not Ziri Nox from IATB. I did play around with using her character again, but decided this time to use a male SI Darth Nox (Alim Nox).**

**Chapter 1:**

Groaning against the pain coursing through his head Darth Nox; Dark Lord of the Sith, Head of the Pyramid of Ancient Knowledge, Member of the Dark Council, Heir of Tulak Hord and Kallig, Master of Death and figurehead of the Cult of the Screaming Blade, shakily raised his hand to his head in an effort to stifle the immense throbbing threatening to implode his brain. Reaching out with the Force, he felt his surroundings and was confused at what he found.

'_A long-range star fighter? What the hell happened?_' he asked himself as he tried desperately to remember just where he was.

Working slowly, he began to piece together his life before this moment. His enslavement at the hands of his masters. He remembered clearly the moment he'd lost his eyes. His master had ordered the death of his mother and he was forced to watched as his mother was stood up and shot by his master's house guards without a second thought. But not before he'd had Alim watch as most of the household violated his mother in the worst possible manner. The action had caused a reaction in Alim, as his eyes had turned yellow and the guard that'd killed his mother was suddenly and inexplicably choked to death where he stood. While he didn't know what the changing of his eye color meant at the time, his master sure did. And he wasn't about to let a lowly slave have the honor of being sent to Korriban. So, his master had taken a red-hot poker to his eyes and burnt away his sight. It was only after his sight had been stolen from him that he understood what he'd done. He'd used the Force. Something only the most noble and best of the Sith Empire were capable of. Not a handicapped slave boy. But despite his handicap, or perhaps because of it, Nox came into his own. He developed his Force attunement on his own, first in order to see. And second to bring revenge to his 'master'.

By the time the city guards arrived at the estate, his master and his master's mistress were little more than splats of blood coating the walls and floor of their bedroom. The other slaves showed their true colors, turning on him and ousting him immediately to the guards. But instead of being executed, as he'd expected, he was instead shipped off to Korriban. In a way, it was still a death sentence, he knew. A blind teenager with no training other than what he'd taught himself stood little chance of surviving the trials and the other acolytes made sure to remind him of that every day. But he refused to simply keel over and die. He used the Force to develop his other senses to the point where he could actually 'see' better than any other of the acolytes. Many even mistook him for a Miralukan, given that he'd taken to wearing a strip of cloth around his head to cover his useless eyes.

But despite those that doubted or laughed at him, he prevailed. He killed everyone who stood in his way in his quest to become the apprentice of Lord Zash. He particularly remembers the pleasure he felt as he killed his 'rival' Ffon, after Zash had declared him her apprentice. The memory of the pure blooded Sith's screams and pleas for mercy still brought a smile to his face, even after all these years.

Then there was his time under Zash, becoming her own personal errand boy as he went across the galaxy, fetching relics for her. Relics that she planned to use to switch their bodies as hers had become withered with age. But in the end, he'd gotten the last laugh as his faithful companion Khem Val interrupted her ritual and her spirit ended up trapped with the dashade. Only later to be expelled from the ancient beast as well and trapped within a monolith for all eternity. A fitting end for his conniving master.

After Zash, his next challenge came in the form of one Darth Thanaton. The arrogant Darth who had his head shoved so far up his ass that Nox was sure that the man could give himself an oral inspection. The man believed that just because Zash was defeated that Nox's life was forfeit as well. Well, he proved him wrong as well. It might've taken the binding of four Force ghosts to utterly decimate the idiot, but Nox did not once regret his decision. The power gained from those contracts and their subsequent release was well worth the agony that binding them brought. And in the end, it was Thanaton whose corpse was thrown out of the Temple, leaving Nox to take up his seat on the Dark Council.

Then came the battle against Revan. The Jedi-turned-Sith-turned-Jedi was a force to be reckoned with. It took the combined efforts of Nox, Darth Marr, Jedi Grandmaster Satele Shan and Jedi Knight Tabris to stop the madman. Of course, it was Nox who truly ended the fight, by helping to merge the light and dark halves of the legendary force user. An action which ended with Revan accepting death, but not before leaving the Jedi Knight Tabris his lightsaber and Nox his mask.

_'Fuck,_' he cursed as he pulled his mask, the very mask worn by Darth Revan and gifted to him upon the legend's defeat on Yavin 4, off his face. Running his hands over the surface of the ancient artifact, Nox felt for any damages or imperfections. Finding none, he set the mask aside and reached up to feel his face. He could feel blood coating the fingers of his gloves running freely from his nose. Carefully touching his broken nose, he channeled a light flow of energy into the cartilage, fixing it and stemming the tide of blood.

That taken care of, Nox righted himself in the cockpit of the fighter and began to run a system check. _'The battle,_' he thought as he hammered his fist down on top of the ship's console as the display before him flickered on and off. '_I have to know if Darth Marr escaped. And Tabris too, I guess. She is good looking enough that I wouldn't mind…'converting' her_.'

As the ship began running through its system check, he thought back on the past few hours. Or the past few that he could remember. Darth Marr's ship had been perched on the edge of known space, searching for the mysterious force that was stupidly attacking both the Republic and the Empire at the same time. He remembered Tabris and her ragtag group arriving on board…and then chaos. The enemy arrived and outnumbered them by dozens, maybe even a hundred to one in terms of ships alone. The battle, if it could even be called that, was a massacre.

Half their ships were destroyed in the first volley alone while the other half were left mostly disabled. And then the boarding parties came. Nox remembered fighting the new enemy that fought mostly with droids and a few force sensitive individuals. Not that it mattered to Nox either way. Force sensitive or droid, he cut them both down easily enough. After he'd killed each of the Force-sensitive individuals he took the time to collect their lightsabers and clip them onto his belt. He wasn't sure exactly why he'd done it, but something in the Force told him that they would be important in the future. He also collected the lightsabers from a few fallen Jedi and Sith that'd been serving aboard the ship as well.

After clearing out a few levels within the ship he'd almost managed to reach the access point to his ship. However, before he managed to get to his ship the destroyer took a massive hit to its broadside that collapse his path. With no other option, Nox made his way to the hangar bay and managed to commandeer a long-range fighter. But just as he was about to enter the battle, Darth Marr came over the com and told him to flee and warn the Empire about the new threat.

Seeing that further battle was pointless, Nox agreed and turned his ship and was about to make the jump to Dromund Kaas when his ship was hit. The last thing he remembered was his ship spiraling off course and then unmistakable lunge into hyperspace. And now…now here he was. Wherever 'here' was.

Hearing a low beeping coming from his console, Nox flicked through the diagnostics, his mood dampening with each line he read. Fuel: _0.5%_. Hyperdrive engine: _offline_. Primary sub-light engines: _offline_. Secondary sub-light engines: _operational_. Positioning thrusters: _online_. Oxygen levels: _10%_. Primary weapons: _offline_. Secondary weapons: _offline_. Navigational computer: _offline_. Long-range scanner: _offline_. Short range scanner: online.

_'Well…that's just fucking wonderful,_' Nox cursed internally, not wanting to speak in an effort to conserve what little oxygen he had left. _'Even if I could figure out where the fuck I am…Unlikely as the navigation computer is shot and I have no idea just what trajectory I entered hyperspace at…or for how long I was even in hyperspace to begin with! I doubt I'll survive long enough for a ship to just pass me by and pick me up. Fuck…Of all the ways that I thought I'd bite it…floating in an unknown region of space and slowly dying of suffocation…starvation or dehydration was certainly not in the top ten_.'

Leaning back in his seat, Nox was just about to turn off the display to conserve power when he felt it. A slight disturbance in the Force. A feeling of…darkness. One he hadn't felt since he'd last stepped foot on Korriban. Closing his eyes, he reached out through the Force and felt for the disturbance. There…just off to this starboard side was a planet. A garden planet if his senses told him anything. A garden world touched heavily in the dark side of the Force. Yet, at the same time…there was a light sided touch as well. Fainter than the dark side…but still there. But, more importantly, he could sense life on the planet: intelligent life.

Coming out of his trance, he immediately booted up the short-range scanner. _'It's not far. I should have just enough fuel if I make sporadic bursts from the sub-light engine_.' He thought as he read the scanner results of the planet. _'Definitely a garden world. No satellites or ships in orbit. Pollution and radiation levels seem to place the world as pre-industrialized. Wonderful…Thanks a lot, Force. You raise my hopes of salvation…only to dash them in the next instant. Still, if it's a choice between dying up here in this ship in the middle of empty space, or to live out the rest of my life on a garden world…there really isn't a choice there. And who knows…perhaps if they're not so developed yet that I can turn this situation to my advantage. Although, just getting there will be only half the battle. I'm then going to have to land this bucket of bolts with no navigation, next to no fuel, and with only positioning thrusters to try and arrest my descent. This definitely isn't going to be one of my better landings_.'

Manually inputting his commands, Nox used the positioning thrusters to turn his ship in the direction of the garden world before setting off towards his new, and perhaps last, home.

* * *

**283AC Wolfswood, The North**

Panting heavily with his back against a tree, six-name-day Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, tried desperately to catch his breath while his eyes darted nervously around the dense forest surrounding him. The cold air of the north turning his breath to mist as he breathed. For not the first time that day, he cursed his luck for having caught sight of the falling star that fell into the Wolfswood a week past. '_I should've just listened to Maester Luwin…or father_.' Jon thought as he greedily gasped air into his body. '_There has only been one instance of a star falling to the ground. I must have just been seeing things in the night_.'

But regardless of the doubts expressed by his father, the Maester…or even his own brother Robb, Jon couldn't shake the thought of being the one to find the fallen star. If he could, maybe he could bring it back to Winterfell. And then Mikken would've been able to forge a new blade for House Stark that could rival Dawn! And then…maybe, just _maybe_, he would be granted the Stark name. And it was with those thoughts in mind that Jon set off in the middle of the night while everyone was asleep to find the star.

That was four days ago. Two days ago, he'd run out of food. And yesterday he'd run out of water. On top of that, he was completely and utterly lost! Nan had told him and Robb both tales of children wandering into the dense forest only never to be seen again, but he hadn't believed her. Not really. But now…he truly did believe the tales. The trees were so tall and thick that even though it was bright out, he couldn't see the sun! And because of that, he couldn't tell east from west, or even north from south at this point. But being lost, hungry and thirsty weren't the worst of his troubles. No…. the worst had occurred just this morning when he stumbled across the dying embers of a fire, only to find he wasn't the only one in the woods.

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

"I call his legs! The best meat is on the legs! Even if he is a little shit!"

"Oh no," Jon wailed to himself as he forced himself off the tree and rushing further into the forest.

_'Wildings,_' Jon thought as he pushed himself harder than ever to keep his legs moving as fast as possible. '_Nan once told us that they like to eat people…at least she did until Lady Stark forbade her from speaking of such things to Robb…but I never…never thought she was telling the truth! Who would want to eat another person! It's…disgusting!_'

"Here little shite! We got a nice little campfire set up just to cook you! I know just how long to keep ya on the fire for to make sure you be done just right! Stop running…and we might just kill ya first, before we cook ya!"

'_They're getting closer!_' Jon thought desperately as he urged his legs to move faster. '_I…I need to get away! But…where do I go? I have no idea where I am! I need to hide! Maybe if I hide, they'll pass me by, and I can—_'

A sharp pain in his leg ended his thoughts as he stumbled forward falling headfirst to the ground as his left leg refused to move. Pushing his hands under him, Jon turned and looked down his body. His eyes widened as he spied fletching and a shaft sticking out from the back of his calf. '_I…I didn't…When did they…?_'

His questions were cut off as the Wildlings came into sight no more than a few paces behind him. Each wearing a mismatched of animal pelts to keep them warm. Their faces and hands almost black from the dirt covering them and their hair wild and unkempt. And each were carrying a weapon of some sort. The largest of the group smirked as he approached Jon, his sword idly waving back and forth in front of him as he approached. His yellow crooked teeth on full display as he smiled down at Jon in much the same way that his si-Sansa stared at sweets. '_Gods…They really do mean to eat me!_'

"Well, well…little rabbit. That was a fun little hunt, eh? But now it ends…and our meal begins!"

Trying to get back to his feet, Jon instantly cried out and collapsed as he tried to stand on his left leg.

"Ya, that ain't gonna work, little rabbit," the big wildling laughed. "Ida here be a hello'a shot. And she put that arrow in ya. Doubt ye be runnin again any time soon. Not that ya'll get the chance too."

Rolling over onto his back, Jon reached down and pulled out the small knife that his father had gifted him for his fifth name day. The blade wasn't long…barely the length of his fingers…but it was all he had. "Stay back!"

Instead of being intimidated, the Wildlings instead laughed. "Be careful, Kor." A woman wilding with a bow, Ida he thought, laughed. "The little rabbit still has some teeth!"

The big wildling with crooked yellow teeth smirked even wider as he stabbed his sword point first into the cold ground. "Nice little knife ya got, little rabbit." The man laughed as he reached out towards Jon. "Maybe I'll use it pick you from my teeth when I'm – fuck!"

Jon had waited until the wildling was in arm's reach, just like his father had taught himself and Robb, before stabbing forth with the knife, burying it to the handle in the wildlings outstretched arm. "Fuck!" The wildling screamed, stepping back and yanking the knife out of both Jon's hand and his own arm. "Fuckin…fuck!"

Jon tried to run; he really did. But the moment he tried to stand, his left reminded him that he still had an arrow in his leg and he abruptly fell face first back onto the ground. And before he could get up again, a pair of rough hands had him by the neck and were lifting him off the ground. The wildling with crooked teeth was holding him clear off the ground so that his feet here left dangling helplessly in the air.

"That wasn't fuckin smart, little rabbit," the wildling growled, his grip on Jon's neck tightening to the point where Jon was having trouble breathing. "I was gonna make this quick. But now…now I'm gonna cook you…one limb at a time and make you watch as I feast on your flesh!"

Darkness started closing in on the edges of Jon's sight as he struggled against the hand around his throat. _'No_…' he thought weakly, trying to breath and failing as the fight started to leave his body. _'I – I can't…not like this…Father…Robb…Sansa…Arya…someone…please…help…'_

A scream unlike any Jon had ever heard in his life echoed throughout the forest. The Wildling holding onto Jon let go, letting Jon fall limply to the ground, pain shooting through his leg as he landed on it and his lungs burning as he gasped desperately for breath. "What the fuck was that?" one of the wildlings, this one wielding a club of sorts, asked as the group turned and started looking around the area.

The wildling with rotten teeth stared at the other wildlings. "Where the fuck be Tummer?"

The other wildlings looked at one another before searching around frantically. "Fuck." The bow-wielding one, Ida, cursed as she notched an arrow. "He be…he was right the fuck behind us. What got him? Shadowcat? Direwolf?"

"There be no direwolves south of da wall," another said, his voice as shaky as Jon felt. "Shadowcat, maybe?"

"No," the wildling with rotten teeth growled. "Listen. No birds. No animals. Nothin. There be someone else out there."

Turning back to Jon. Without saying a word, the wildling lifted his boot and stepped down hard onto Jon's leg, breaking the shaft of the arrow off and driving the tip deeper into his leg. "Noo!" Jon screamed in agony as he tried to sit up, only to have the wildling press down harder on his leg.

"Shut the fuck up, little rabbit!" The wildling yelled, a mad tint in his eye. "Who else be with you in these woods?"

Fighting against the pain in his legs, Jon felt tears of pain roll down his face as he cried in pain. "Please…no one! I swear by the old gods! I'm alone! I swear!"

"He be fuckin lyin." Another spat. "Kneelers wouldn't let a kid like him out on his fuckin own. Someone else is with him!"

The boot left his leg, but before he could feel any relief, Jon was roughly pulled upwards by the rotten toothed wildling. "I have the boy kneeler!" The wildling yelled as he put Jon's own knife to his throat. "Come out now or I spill his blood on the snow!"

Silence answered the rotten toothed man as the rest of the wildlings began backing up so that they were all back to back and facing outwards towards the forest. "Fuck…" the wildling woman spat, her arrow pulled back and ready. "I don't fuckin like this…something ain't right."

A flash of black followed by the cracking of a twig caught Jon's and the wildling's attention, making all of them turn as one. Blinking, Jon thought at first that his eyes were playing tricks on him. But even after blinking…the figure didn't disappear. Standing less than a few paces away from them was a man…Well, at least Jon thought he was a man. He was covered from head to foot in black robes and armor. He could see the metal coverings on his boots. And his hands and forearms were covered in gauntlets that extended past his fingers slightly making it look like he almost had claws. The open cloak he wore exposed his chest, showing off a black steel chest plate of some sort. And his face was covered by the strangest visor he'd ever seen with the black hood pulled up over the back of his head. _'Its…one piece. No eye slits. How…How can he see?'_

"Who the fuck be you?" the wilding holding Jon demanded, the knife pressing hard enough against his skin that Jon could feel his warm blood trickling down his neck.

The newcomer didn't say anything. He just stood there staring at them. At least, Jon believed he was staring at them. It was impossible to tell just where he was looking with that visor covering his face. After several long moments, his head turned towards Jon. He didn't know how he knew, but Jon could almost feel the man's eyes on him. The moment their eyes met, Jon felt the breath in his lungs freeze. There was something…terrifying about the man's gaze. As if he were looking upon the eyes of death itself! But as quick as the moment came, it passed as the man's head turned off Jon and back to the wildlings holding him.

"Eight of you to capture one young boy. Either he is quite the accomplished warrior or, and far more likely, the lot of you are merely incompetent beyond belief."

His voice sounded so strange, distorted. Jon had heard men talking in their helmets before and knew that the visor on a helmet made a man sound different. But this…this was something completely different.

"Fuck you!" the wildling holding Jon shouted, jostling Jon and removing the knife from his throat so he could point it towards the mysterious man. "Who the fuck be you? Some southern kneeler knight here to save the boy?"

The man's head tilted to the side as he just continued to stand there. "Kneeler? Can't say that I've heard that term before. But, given its general meaning…Nope, still have no clue what you mean by that. And as for being a Knight? I doubt you would understand, but I wouldn't be caught dead becoming a Knight. Too restricting for my tastes. But as for who I am, my name is Darth Nox. Although considering that we are quite the distance away from my home, and you lot will never understand the underlying meaning behind my title, you can just call me Nox."

"Who the fuck cares who this fuckin kneeler is!" Another wilding woman screamed, stepping forward and lowering her spear threateningly towards the mysterious knight. "I want to know where the fuck Tummer be!"

The mysteriously knight merely titled his head. "Which half do you want? His upper body is that way," he said, pointing across his body to his left before moving his thumb to the right, "and his lower half is that way."

"Fuckin bastar-"

"Don't Hilda," the wildling holding Jon shouted. "The fuckin kneeler is just tryin to rile ya up. And if Tummer be dead, then he be dead. You'll just have to find a new cock to please ya."

"Well he fuckin did just that!" The woman wildling yelled, jabbing her spear at the strange man. "What we waitin for? There be more of us then him! Let's just kill this fucker and be done with it?"

Instead of being scared, the masked knight just…laughed. "Amusing. You think that just because you outnumber me means that the advantage is yours? How incredibly short sighted of you. Do you not recognize the sensations running through you all? The cold tingling running down your back. Do you know what that is? Or perhaps the shaking of your hands? Or maybe that warm sensation running down that one's legs. Do you know just what that is? Let me help you: it's fear. It's because your body knows right now that you stand before death itself. Even if your minds are too feeble to comprehend just what that means."

Despite his situation, being held at knifepoint by wildlings that were threatening to make a meal out of him, Jon couldn't help but feel awestruck at the mysterious man standing before them. He didn't look to be carrying any type of weapon that Jon could see, no sword nor spear nor bow. Yet still he stood his ground. '_This…This is what a true knight is. Just like that knight from the tales that Sansa always begs for!_'

"Ah, fuck this!" The wildling holding Jon shouted, throwing him off to the side as if Jon was little more than a doll to be discarded. "Let's kill this fucker and eat his cor—"

In the time it took Jon to turn over on the ground, the mysterious knight had somehow managed to cross the distance between himself and the wildlings and had driven his fist right into the much larger man's gut. What Jon couldn't understand, beside just how the man had managed to move so fast, was how he managed to throw the much larger wildling back at least two lengths of men and into a nearby tree so hard that the tree actually cracked and fell over from the impact!

The wildlings, despite the suddenness of the attack, were quick to recover as the next closest one to the mysterious knight cried out and charged at the man's back with his spear lowered and ready to run him through.

"Watch out!" Jon yelled.

His warning though wasn't needed as just before the spear reached the dark stranger, he turned and dodged the attack. A strange hiss, much like the sound of a heated blade in a forge hitting water, came from the stranger and next Jon knew the strange knight was wielding glowing red sword that looked as if it were made of fire! The blade cut clean through the wildling's chest, cutting the man clean in two.

The quick death of two of their members, not to mention the sudden appearance of a sword made of fire, brought the wildlings up short. "Fuckin…How did he kill them so quick! And what the fuck is that…thing!"

"Who cares?" Another wildling, this one holding a rusty and poorly kept sword. "We kill him, we take that…sword of his! Come on! He can't take us all at once! Let's kill this fucker!"

For a moment, just a moment, Jon felt despair as the six remaining wildlings all charged at the dark stranger. He was his only hope of surviving this. But that despair was short-lived as the mysterious knight jumped up and flipped clear over the head of the nearest wildling, his fire-sword cleanly removing the man's head from his shoulders as he did. As soon as his feet touched the ground, the stranger was moving again, sliding to the side to avoid a spear thrust and stabbing the attacking wildling though the chest with his fire-sword.

The fight, if it could even be called that, Jon considered it more of a slaughter, was over in the amount of time it took Jon to sit upright on the ground. The stranger almost seemed to know exactly where and when each wildling was about to strike. The stranger also moved like water! One moment he'd been in one place and the next moment he'd be bending or twisting out of the way of a weapon and countering without a moment's hesitation. By the time Jon had fully managed to sit upright, the only wildling left still standing was the bow-wielding woman, she had an arrow drawn and pointed at him. But Jon could see that her arms were shaking so heavily that he doubted her aim would be true, even from the distance on only few paces. When the stranger turned towards her, the wildling threw her bow to the ground and collapsed. "Mercy! Please mi'lord! Mercy! I beg of you!"

The hiss of water on hot steel sounded again as the sword of fire disappeared, leaving only a strange hilt in the mysterious knight's hand. "Why?"

The almost detached way he'd asked the simple question made Jon turn to him. And the fact that he was still holding onto the hilt of the fire sword in his hand made Jon somewhat uneasy. '_He…He is going to accept her surrender…right? Father always said that there was no honor in slaying a surrendered foe…He's not going to hurt her…is he? She's surrendered and she has no weapon on her! There's no reason to do anything to her!_'

The wildling woman slowly raised her head, her eyes wide and pleading. "Please, mi'lord…show mercy! I – I'll let you steal me! I won't fight back! I swear! I'll…I be yours…however and wherever ye want me! Please mi'lord…just show mercy."

The stranger didn't say anything. He just stood there, staring at the pleading woman, his face impossible to read behind his strange mask. Jon could hear his own heart beating in his chest as he waited to see what the knight would do. _'He can't…He can't kill her! He just…He can't…He's a warrior! A…A noble man. They don't…They don't kill those that have surrendered…even if they're wildlings_.'

Jon wasn't sure just how long the two stared at one another, all but ignoring him. But after a long time, the stranger finally moved as he squatted down in front of the woman. "Tell me." He rumbled in the strange distorted tone. "The farmhouse that you and this lot came across a week pass. Did you show them mercy? Did you show the father mercy as you cut him to pieces and cooked him one piece at a time? Did you show the mother and daughter mercy as your male counterparts raped them repeatedly while you and other woman in your group simply laughed as they cried and begged for mercy? Tell me: did you show them mercy? And if you're willing to be mine and do whatever I want, then tell me: why are you holding a dagger under your body waiting for the chance to run me through?"

Blinking, Jon's eyes flickered from the stranger to the groveling woman. The wildling blinked and then her face morphed from the pleading look to a snarl as she lunged at the stranger. The dagger he hadn't even seen suddenly in her hand and going straight for the stranger's throat. The hiss echoed throughout the forest again as the sword of fire came to life once more. The blade appearing seeming out of nowhere and cutting the woman's arm off at the elbow.

"That," the stranger said calmly, rising to his feet and holding the tip of the fire-sword at the screaming wildling's head. "was your last chance. Had you shown even an ounce of remorse or not tried to kill me. I honestly might've considered your plea. But now…now, I won't. Just be glad that a child is nearby and conscious. Otherwise…this would last a _lot_ longer."

Without a moment's hesitation, the stranger swiped his blade through the air, cleaving clean through the woman's neck and separating her head from her shoulders and ending her screaming.

Jon couldn't take his eyes off the head on the ground. It wasn't his first time seeing a beheading. His father had taken himself and Robb to the execution of a Night's Watch deserter less than a moon's turn ago. Perhaps it was because it was a woman instead of a man. Or perhaps it was because of the suddenness of her shift from pleading for her life to trying to kill the stranger. Or perhaps it was the dispassionate way the stranger had killed her without giving her the chance to say her last words. But for some reason…the whole scene just seemed more…brutal then when his father executed the deserter from the Night's Watch.

Hearing the unmistakable hissing noise again, Jon forced his eyes off the lifeless head lying on the ground to the strange standing just before him. "I apologize for the brutality, young one. But there was no time to shield you from this sight. But for now, sleep."

Jon wanted to say that he wasn't tired, that he had a hundred questions for the stranger. But for some reason upon his command, Jon's mind went dark as his eyes grew heavy. '_But…I'm not even tired…_' was the last thought that went through his mind before darkness clouded his vision as the ground rushed up to meet him.

* * *

Kneeling next to the now unconscious boy, Nox carefully turned the child over so that he could examine him properly. '_Small cut on the throat, not critical. Clearly exhausted with how quickly he passed out. I didn't even need to put much into the persuasion to put him under_.' Turning to where the arrow had penetrated his calf, he gently probed at the flesh around the wound. '_The arrowhead has nicked the bone. It's going to take quite a bit to heal him. But he's young…and strong in the Force. Very strong. Strong enough that his mere presence tells me that we are no longer in Imperial or Republic space. There is no way the Sith nor the Jedi would allow such a promising young individual to pass them by if he was within their domain of control. Even if he does come from a backwater planet with no discernable technology to speak off_.'

It'd been three days since Nox had landed on this technology forsaken rock. Or rather crashed. He knew that he didn't have the fuel for a proper landing, so he'd planned on setting down into the ocean near the coastline and then swimming to shore. But that didn't happen. Entry into this planet's atmosphere didn't go like he'd hoped. With no navigational computer to speak of, he had to do the entry by line of sight. By the time he was fully committed, he was too far off course to make the coast. So, with aid of the Force, and no small amount of luck, he managed to locate a small lake in the middle of forest. It'd then taken him nearly everything he had, but he'd managed to use the Force to not only align his ship, but to also slow himself enough so that when he did hit the lake's surface, his ship didn't fold like a deck of cards on him.

After extracting himself from his now-ruined fighter and the small lake he'd crashed into, began to assess his situation. He had no way of communicating with the greater galaxy, no ship and he was apparently marooned on a pre-industrial world with only a single emergency survival bag and the few items on his person to his name. The survival bag wasn't promising either. Apparently whatever pilot was responsible for that long-range fighter had neglected his preparations duties as the bag contained less than half of the supplies that it should have. Deciding to make use of the excess space, he placed the dozen lightsabers he'd managed to collect from the foreign attackers as well as the fallen Sith and Jedi from Darth Marr's ship.

Deciding that he needed to know more, much more, he knelt next to the water's edge and went into a deep meditative trance for two reasons. The first was that he wanted to see if there was any sign of Republic or Imperial forces, which there wasn't. And second, to try and learn as much about this new world as he could. Which unfortunately, even after spending days in his trance, wasn't much. As far as he could tell, this world was pre-industrial world. But just as he'd sensed out in space, the Force was very strong on this world. He could distinctly feel several dark side presences scattered across the world. However, none seemed to belong to a single individual. It was more like each presence was a collective. A collective that he intended to investigate as soon as he was able to do so.

He'd fully intended on delving deeper into his trance to try and discern more, but his concentration had been broken by a disturbance in the Force. A cry for help. It was mere curiosity more than a sense of duty that led him to follow the disturbance. But now that he'd located exactly what the origins of the disturbance of the Force was. He was glad that he did. It wasn't every day that a Darth could find such a promising, uncompromised individual to potentially train. But first, he needed to see to healing the boy proper.

"And that is where you come in, my unfortunate friend," he said, turning around slowly and making his way over to the large man that seemed to have been the leader of this poor assortment of Free Folk, or Wildlings as they were also known.

Said Free Folk was currently trying to push himself up off the ground, but his broken back as well as five broken ribs, courtesy of his impact with the tree, was preventing him from doing so. "Fuck…you…fuckin…kneeler!"

Tsking, Nox made his way over to the fallen Free Folk and knelt down before him. "You surely do like that word don't you? Fucking. Your friend, Tummer, was it? Yes, he liked that word as well. He kept screaming it at me, even as I was syphoning what little I could from his mind. He wasn't a very bright individual, so, luckily for him, it didn't take very long. It is a very painful process, after all. And a weak mind will fold, break and become useless rather quickly. But he did manage to last long enough for me to gather some bits of information. Including your recent actions. And after what you lot did just a week ago…I can honestly say that I'm sorry I didn't prolong his suffering."

Unfortunately, that was the truth of the matter. The first individual he'd come across in his search for the disturbance had yelled something at him and charged at him with a spear. It was almost child's play to take the spear away and the break his knee and arm. The syphoning of one's mind was a very dark technique, but it was one that had fallen out of favor due to its habit of breaking the mind of the victim, making it useless for interrogation purposes. But it was very useful if, say, you were on an uncharted world and needed to get a basic understanding of the local language and geography.

The wilding he'd come across had only lasted a few moments before his mind broke, leaving him a drooling husk of a human. But in that time Nox was able to not only get a feel for the language, which allowed him to speak somewhat to the locals, but it also let him know that he was in a land called 'the North', unoriginal. And that his victim belongs to a group of people known as 'Free Folk' or 'Wildlings' who came from beyond something called 'The Wall' even further to the north. He also saw just what they had done to a small farmstead a few days prior. It wasn't the worst thing Nox had ever heard or even seen happen. But still, even though he was Sith, such actions filled him with disgust.

"But you, you, my large friend," he continued, enjoying watching the big man flail about as he tried in vain to get away from him. "You will not be so lucky. You see, it just so happens that I need you for two reasons. One, is to help heal that young man over there. And the second is to try and learn more about this land."

The Free Folk glared up at him with utter hatred, a look Nox had grown accustomed too over the years. "Fuck you! I ain't helpin a fuckin kneeler!"

Smirking behind his mask, Nox stood up and rolled his neck, "Unfortunately for you, your cooperation in this matter isn't required." Holding out his hand, Nox channeled his power into his outstretched palm, creating a miasma of dark side energy that flowed around his hand and arm. "Ashara would…not _fully_ approve of this. But unfortunately for you, my light was taken from me some time ago. And given what you lot did to those unable to defend themselves…well, let's just say I'm not feeling very charitable at the moment."

Lowering his hand, the miasma flowed out from his hand and encased the wildling in its dark grasp. Almost immediately the man started screaming in agony as Nox began two-fold process of draining his life force to give to the boy so he could heal, and to also syphon what he could from the man's mind.

"Do try not to scream too loud," he said casually, pulling more and more from the withering man. "The boy over there needs his rest, after all. And it'd be terribly impolite of you to wake him with your wailing."

* * *

Kneeling on the ground, Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, carefully inspected the small footprint that was inlaid in a small muddy patch before him. The cool air of the North froze his breath as it escaped his lungs. A stark reminder that while winter may have officially ended by the standards of the Maesters, the cold never truly left the North. '_And another reminder as to why we need to find Jon quickly. He is of the North, but even the sturdiest of men can meet their end in a spring chill_.'

"My lord, have you found something?" Jory Cassel, nephew to Ser Rodrik Cassel and recently assigned Captain of the Winterfell guard, asked as he knelt next to Eddard in order to examine what he'd found.

"Aye," Eddard nodded, lightly touching at the single foot impression. "This track was not made by any animal nor a full grown man, it's far too small. No, this track belongs to a boy."

Jory licked his lips as he nodded with the assessment. "Jon," Jory stated, giving words to Eddard's thoughts. "The track looks fresh, my lord. Less than a day old…maybe half a day at best. We're closing in on him."

"Aye." Eddard nodded, rising to his feet and staring off in the direction the single track was heading towards. A direction that would lead them even further into the depths of the unmarked wolfswood.

"He's still alive, my lord," Jory stated, stepping up beside him. "We'll find him my lord, I swear it."

Nodding, Eddard stayed silent as he stared off into the depths of the woods while Jory went back to gather the men. The well of despair that'd been growing within him ever since he'd discovered Jon's disappearance grew even more despite the evidence of Jon's continued survival. '_This is my fault._' He thought to himself morosely as he made his way back to where Jory was giving out orders to the two dozen house guards that'd accompanied the two on the search. '_I should've been paying more attention to Jon. I know that recently he has started to feel __unworthy__ of being in Winterfell. No thanks to that bloody Septa and her abrupt and cruel explanation of just what a bastard, and by extent what Jon was in the eyes of the South. I should've realized that Jon was looking to prove that he wasn't just bastard, that he wanted to prove himself. And that this mysterious 'falling star' of his was the perfect opportunity to do just that_.'

But it wasn't just his failing to recognize Jon's need to prove his worth that had brought him into such a well of despair. No, what'd truly brought him so low was the fact that it'd taken him and those within his own house nearly a full day to discover that Jon was in fact missing in the first place! After Jon had failed to show up for dinner, Ned had sent a servant to fetch him, figuring that he'd spent the day in his chambers, but when the servant reported back that Jon wasn't there and that no one had seen him all day, Ned felt lower than even that day in the Tower when he first held Jon in his arms.

Ned had immediately called for a search party to head out and search for Jon. Cat had tried to talk him out of leading the search himself, but he would hear none of it. Her attitude towards Jon had always been a sore point in their otherwise decent marriage. And for not the first time, Ned seriously considered telling her the truth of the matter. But, as always, the words died on his tongue before he could give them voice. '_I have to protect him. I swore to her that I would. And his best shield is his anonymity. The fewer that know the truth, the better. No good will come of it should people learn just who he truly is._'

Robb, unsurprisingly, had wanted to go with them. He'd even been sitting on a horse waiting for them while pointedly ignoring his mother's orders to get down. Jon and Robb, much to Ned's joy, were true siblings, even if they were secret cousins. They played together, learned together, fought together. Just about every first the two boys had experienced in their young lives had been in the presence of the other. Their bond was strong…despite even Cat's attempts to separate the two. It'd taken Ned nearly an hour to convince Robb that he needed to stay behind, that he was still young and that they would be moving too fast for him to keep up with. And that he needed Robb to stay and be the Lord or Winterfell while he was away. Robb hadn't been happy about being left behind, but in the end his son's budding sense of duty won out and he was left behind.

Figuring out where Jon had set off too had been easy. He'd talked for nearly a full day about the fallen star that landed in the wolfswood. But that was merely the start. Finding a single boy in the ancient and dense forest was the true challenge. They'd had to abandon their horses after the first day when the evidence pointed to Jon leaving the trail and heading deeper into the woods than any had ventured before. And now, two days later, they had still yet to find Jon.

'_He's out of food by now,_' Ned thought as he watched his guards spread out so that dozen or more paces separated each of them in order to cover as much space as possible but allowing them to keep track of one another. '_And unless he's found a new source of water, he will be out of that as well. We need to find him, soon._'

Falling into step with the rest of his men, Ned kept a constant vigilance on the trees around him searching for any sign of Jon. "How much further do you think he could've gone?" Jory asked him as they continued searching. "You Starks are made of sturdily stuff, my lord. But Jon, he's but a boy of six. To think that he could've gotten this far out on his own with little supplies…it doesn't make much sense. Even a fully-grown man would be slowing by now. But your son, he just seems to be keeping two steps ahead of us."

Jory wasn't wrong. Ned had expected to be able to catch up with Jon within half a day, a day at most once they'd set out. But now they were three days in and seemingly no closer to catching up to Jon than the day they'd set out. If Ned wasn't so frightened and worried, he would've been proud of the pace that his 'bastard' son had set.

Nearly half a day passed before they found their next sighting. Ned had been ready to call for a halt when one of his men had called out to him. "Lord Stark! We've found something!"

Desperate for any sign of Jon, Ned had all but run over to the guardsmen, leaving Jory and the others struggling to catch up to him. _'Please be Jon. Please gods of the North, let him be alright_.' Unfortunately, his prayers fell on deaf ears as he arrived at the guardsmen who'd called for him. A small camp, unorganized and scattered, lay in a small clearing. Two of Stark guardsmen that'd been closest were inspecting the makeshift tents while a third was holding his bare hand over the remnants of a fire. "The embers are still warm, Lord Stark." The guardsmen explained the moment he laid eyes on Eddard.

Nodding, Eddard looked around the makeshift camp with a critical eye. The smallfolk wouldn't dare venture so far into the wolfswood to make camp. Nor would any bannerman of the North. The threat of wildlife was far too dangerous to venture too far from the road. Which meant that whoever made this camp didn't want to be near the road. Which left two options. Neither of which were appealing. "Spread out." Ned ordered, making his way over to the still warm embers. "Look for tracks. Someone abandoned this camp in a hurry, and I want to know where they went."

"Yes mi'lord!" his guardsmen shouted before dispersing and searching the nearby area for any sign of tracks.

"My Lord," Jory said lowly as he came up beside Eddard. "There are only two types of folk who'd set up camp so far from the road. Bandits and-"

"Wildlings." Eddard finished for his captain. "I am well aware of that fact, Jory."

He could hear the hesitation in his captain's voice as he continued. "My lord, if they spotted Jon before us—"

"I know," Eddard nearly snapped. _'Promise me, Ned_.' "But I won't allow myself to think about that situation. My son is alive, Jory. I know it."

"Mi'lord!" One of his guardsmen shouted, bringing an end to their conversation. "Tracks heading west mi'lord! One small and at least six others as well! They look to be moving fast!"

A single shared look with his captain of the guard was all that was needed as Jory drew his sword. "To arms, men! We'll track these fuckers down who dare to hunt a wolf!"

As his men drew their weapons and voiced their approval, Ned continued to stare blankly into the depths of the forest. The wind through the trees and the sound of the animals who made the forest their home died into nothing as the voice of his long-lost sister rang through his head like a mantra. '_Promise me, Ned. Promise me, Ned._'

* * *

Sitting on the stump of a fallen tree, Darth Nox, Dark Lord of the Sith, quietly contemplated the situation he now found himself in as he let the soft sound of the small fire he'd created wash over him. Directly across from him, laid out carefully so as to not disturb the freshly healed wounds, was the young boy he'd rescued from the so-called 'wildlings', of 'free folk' as they prefered to be called, less than an hour ago. The boy was powerful in the Force. Completely untrained, but his potential was astronomical. A quick scan of the boy told him that he hadn't ate anything for days, but even still, he'd been able to push himself well past what should've been the normal limits for a child his age. Which meant he'd been unconsciously sustaining himself with the Force. Which was beyond impressive. With the proper training he could become incredibly powerful, perhaps even powerful enough to rival himself one day. So, sticking with the boy wasn't the problem. No, what was the problem was what he was supposed to do now.

He could take the boy and go. But that idea didn't seem logical. For starters, he had no real powerbase on this world. Where would he even take the boy too? No. Simply grabbing the boy and disappearing wasn't an option. But then, what were his options?

Pausing in his musing, he looked over the boy once again through the Force. Even though this world was clearly pre-industrial, and perhaps even pre-gunpowder based projectile weaponry, given the weapons used by the 'wildlings', the boy was actually well groomed. His teeth were clean, little dirt even though he'd been in this forest alone for days. And the few calluses on his hands were obviously not caused by manual labor. And unlike the wildlings' mismatched furs, this boy wore tailed clothing that were designed specifically for him. Which meant that the boy had a relatively easy upbringing so far. Which meant he potentially came from a powerful family.

_'That could be the solution,_' he thought, bringing his hand up to his chin. _'Given the potential era this world seems to be in, the more influential means the better. Rescuing a potential 'Lord's' son could help me make a place in this world in the short term. And once I get my foot in the door, so to speak, I can introduce some more modern concepts towards engineering, science, agriculture, and philosophy. It's not ideal and it will take a good amount of time and patience. But eventually I will be able to build a new powerbase on this world. I might even be able to gather a few promising acolytes. Yes. That is the best course of action_.'

Feeling a slight tremor in the Force, Nox reached out with his senses. '_Well, this is just convenient_,' he thought, his lips upturning underneath his mask. '_Over a dozen men are closing in on us. And one of them…he has a…familial connection with the boy. Not direct. But there is definitely a connection there. Good. I can use that. Well, I guess that it's time to play the game once more_.'


	2. Winterfell Part 1

**So, here we go! Chapter 2! Just want to take a moment and thank everyone who reviewed, added this story to their favorites or chose to follow. Thank you all so much for the support!**

**Quick shout out to my beta reader and brainstorm partner for this story, Tellemicus Sundance. And if you haven't checked out his version of this scenario, 'The Jedi Of the North', I highly recommend that ya go and check it out!**

**And a slight correction to the last chapter, so the year when Nox arrives is 289AC, which makes Jon and Robb 6 while Sansa will be 4 and Arya just over 2.**

**Hope that you all enjoy this chapter! And please feel free to leave a review! Any questions I try and answer, but please be respectful. And right now I've almost got the next chapter completed, so I'm going to try and keep a biweekly update schedule, but with full time work, a huge project at work that I need to often take home, and a family at home it's often difficult to find time to write. So please be patient with me. Anyway, here we go!**

Chapter 2

Groaning in discomfort, Jon Snow forcibly opened his heavy eyes groggily as he slowly came to. Blinking dumbly, he found himself staring skywards and seeing only tress and leaves above him. _'What…? Where…?_' In a rush, it all came back to him. The falling star. His foolish venture into the wolfswood. His encounter with the wildlings and the strange kni – "The wildlings!" Jon shouted, shooting upwards into a sitting position, only to immediately fall back down onto his back groaning loudly as his head and the world around him started spinning uncontrollably.

"I wouldn't try to sit up again so fast, boy," a distorted voice said to him through the spinning world around him. "It's amazing you even managed to maintain the strength to keep going for so long after running out of food and water. What limited energy you had left has been used in the healing of your body. And you have nothing to fear of the wildlings, boy. Kind of hard to be a threat when they're dead."

Blinking and trying to stop the spinning, Jon groggily rolled onto his side in the direction of the distorted voice. The first thing he saw was a low burning fire made of twigs and branches. Resting above the fire on a makeshift spit was a hare, skinned and cooking. Jon's mouth watered greedily as the smell of the cooked meat reached him and his stomach roared, reminding him just how long it'd been since he'd last ate anything.

Fighting down the temptation to lunge for the meat, Jon forced his eyes past the fire and to the figure sitting just beyond. The mysterious knight was sitting with his back resting against a nearby tree, his strange helm still in place and facing towards him with unseeing eyes.

Biting his lip, Jon carefully and slowly made to sit up, taking care to avoid the world spinning on him again. "You…You saved me, Ser Knight. I – thank you."

"Think nothing of it, boy," the strange knight continued in his distorted voice. "That rabble was hardly a challenge. My morning workout is more taxing. Now, eat. I did what I could to heal you without having to use your own energy reserves, but healing a body is taxing, even with help."

Licking his lips, Jon hardly waited to be told twice before he all but lunged for the rabbit. Picking up the spit, he bit greedily into the side of, nearly moaning as the taste of meat hit his tongue after so long without food. Before he'd even realized it, he'd picked clean the little amount of meat on one of the four legs and had started in on the body of the hare.

"Not so fast," the mysterious stranger's distorted voice chided him, making him stop eating for a moment. "You haven't eaten in a while. Resist what your body is telling you and eat slowly. If you don't, you'll only make yourself sick."

Taking his words to heart, Jon forced himself to slow his eating, taking smaller bites from the hare instead of the large ones he'd started with. When Jon had finished off the last bits of meat from the small hare, his stomach felt much better than it had. Only to jump again when the mysterious knight held out a water skin for him.

"So, tell me, boy," the knight said as Jon slowly, but greedily, drank from the water skin. "What is your name? I can't keep referring to you as 'boy'."

Jon immediately felt his now moistened throat run dry. "Jon…Snow."

"Jon Snow? Interesting name." The stranger replied, but not with the tone that Jon was used to hearing. Instead the way he said his name almost sounded like…he didn't care. '_Does he not know what the name Snow means? Does he…does he not know that I'm a bastard? A stain on my father's honor?_' "I suppose that turnabout is fair play. My name is Alim Nox. But you, Jon, may refer to me as Nox."

"Lord Nox," Jon greeted the Lord. He had to be a Lord after all. Only a Lord or a king could afford armor like what he was wearing. "Thank you for…well…for saving me."

"I was in the area. And I have a soft spot for those who cannot help themselves. A weakness many have said, but I find strength in it." Lord Nox replied with a shrug. "Now tell me, do you feel any lingering pain from the injuries you suffered at the hands of the wildlings?"

The stranger's question caught Jon off guard. But, now that it was brought to his attention, he realized with a start that, no, he didn't feel any pain anymore. In fact, he felt better now that he'd eaten and drank for the first time in days. As soon as the thought hit him, his eyes widened. Almost fumbling in his haste, Jon reached down to the backside of his leg and felt where the arrow had struck him. He could feel the still drying blood on his pants and the hole in the fabric that the arrow had made. But when his fingers touched his skin, he felt…nothing. There was no wound at all!

Eyes widening even further, he turned his attention back to Lord Nox. _'There…I was hit with an arrow! I know it! I remember when one of guards took an arrow in the arm during target practice. It took Maester Luwin hours to cut the arrow out of him! And even then, it took weeks for the wound to even heal properly! But he…whatever the stranger did made it so that it looks and feels like I was never hit with an arrow in the first place!_'

There was only one explanation that Jon's six-name-day mind immediately jumped too. Magic. It was the only way the stranger could've healed him so fast. And…And it also explained how he was able to defeat so many wildlings with ease. And how he could create a sword made of pure fire! But that was impossible! Maester Luwin was adamant that magic no longer existed! That Valyria was the last ember of magic and that when the last of the dragons died, so too did magic! Even his father didn't believe in magic.

"Are…Are you a sorcerer? You can do magic, can't you?" he asked timidly, both afraid and excited about the answer to come.

Across from him, Lord Nox tilted his head to the side. "There are some who call me such. And given our current situation, the title shall suffice for now. And, yes, to put it in layman's terms, I can use 'magic'. Although, calling it 'magic' is a gross simplification of what the Force is."

Jon wasn't quite sure just what he'd meant by that, but neither did he care. All that he cared about was the fact that Lord Nox, the one who saved him from the wildlings, could do magic! "Can you show me!?" Jon exclaimed, jumping up to his feet and nearly bouncing in his excitement. "And your sword of fire! Can you do that all the time? What else can you do? Can you lift objects with your mind? Can you bewitch people? Can you make fire from thin air? Are there others who can do magic like yourself in your homeland? Can you-"

"Boy," Lord Nox said sharply, cutting off Jon and ending any questions he had. "Slow. Down. The Force, or magic as you call it, is not a party favor to entertain children with. Yes, I can do most what you asked, but I will not show it. Not now. Because there is no need to do so. Should the need arise, I will gladly show you what I am capable of. But not now. And as for my homeland… Suffice to say that it is now impossible for me to return home. As it is impossible for anyone from my home to find me."

It was all Jon could do to keep himself from bursting with questions as he sat back down. But the courtesy that his father…and Lady Stark had drilled into him as of late demanded that he accepts the stranger's command and cease asking questions. Licking his lips, Jon drank a little more from the water skin, trying his best to hold it in but in the end unable to do so. "Can…Can you teach others to…well…do what you do?"

Again, Lord Nox tilted his head to the side. "If an individual shows an aptitude for the Force, then yes, I can teach them what I know. But few have the conviction or desire to withstand the training one needs to go through in order to learn."

"Can you teach me?" Jon asked before he could help himself. Then he quickly started folding in on himself as soon as he did so. '_You're a bastard, Jon…Even if you could learn, he wouldn't accept you. A true born, yes, but not a bastard. No one cares for a bastard. Lady Stark has made that point many times._'

Across from him, Lord Nox crossed his arms over his chest. "Perhaps. You have the spark necessary. But the question is: do you have the will to do what I say when I say it? If I tell you to jump, will you jump? If I tell you to fight, will you fight? If I tell you to do the impossible, will you find a way to do it?"

Feeling hope swell in his chest, Jon eagerly nodded. "Yes!"

Jon could almost see the upturning of Lord Nox's mouth behind his mask. "We shall see if that is true. But that is a discussion for another time. For now, tell me Jon why does a boy of your age come into a forest like this unsupervised? Surely, your parents are worried about you."

At the mention of his parents, Jon immediately curled in on himself again. _'Bastard. Stain on my Lord husband's honor!_' "I…saw a falling star. But no one believed me. I – I had to come. I wanted to find it. I wanted to prove that…that I'm…"

"That you're what?"

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Jon turned his eyes away from Lord Nox took the plunge. "That I'm more than just a…a bastard."

That was it. Now Lord Nox would never be willing to teach him anything. He was a bastard. He didn't deserve the same lessons as his true born brothers and sisters. And he certainly didn't deserve to learn magic.

"A fairly foul term to use on yourself, Jon," Lord Nox commented, making Jon blink and turn back to him. "Unless, _ohhh_, you mean the term quite literally. As you were born out of wedlock. I see. And you feel ashamed of this. Why?"

"Because I'm a stain on my father's honor." Jon answered almost immediately, his lips moving before he even realized it as the words Lady Stark screamed at him not a moon's past came to him. '_I – I didn't mean to answer so quickly_.' "Lady Stark…My father's wife, she – she has made it clear that I do not deserve the same lessons as my true born brother and sisters."

"Hmmm, I see. And what does your mother say?"

"I don't know. I don't know who she is." Jon answered again almost immediately. _'Why do I keep answering so quickly?_' "My father, he won't tell me about her. No matter how much I beg or cry! It doesn't matter, he won't tell me who she is. Where she is. If she even loves me at all. All he says is that he will tell me when I'm older. I'm old enough now! I'm seen six-name-days! Yet still, he won't tell me."

Breathing heavily after his tirade, Jon immediately felt ashamed of his outburst. He had no right to be angry with his father for not telling him. His father took him in and was raising him alongside his true born children. Jon had no right to complain. None at all. If it wasn't for Lord Stark, he knew that he would be sent somewhere far away from home and never be able to return.

Across the fire from him, Lord Nox merely sat with his hands tucked under his chin as he listened to Jon. "I see. So, you were hoping that by finding a fallen star that you could somehow prove your worth to your father and this…Lady Stark?"

"Yes," Jon nodded, sitting down heavily, words falling from his mouth faster than he could think them. "The last star that'd fallen to the earth was found by House Dayne, and they forged the sword Dawn, the greatest sword in the land. I thought that if I did the same, then maybe…just maybe, my father would give me the Stark name. I don't care about the sword, or whatever they can make from the star, I just…I just want to be a Stark. A true Stark. Not a bastard."

By the time he was done, he was breathing like he'd just run through the wolfswood again. Risking a glance upwards, Jon looked towards Lord Nox, waiting and dreading his rebuke. The rebuke he knew was coming. The same rebuke everyone gave him whenever he tried to prove that he was worthy of having the Stark name. But instead, the knight merely sat across the fire from him in silence, his hands folded before where he assumes his mouth was on his mask.

"Interesting," Lord Nox rumbled without warning. "Keep that drive, young Jon. It will serve you well. And while I cannot help you find this 'star', I can perhaps still help you achieve your goal. But that will be a discussion for another time. For now, I believe that it is high time that I return you to your father."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jon's joy at hearing that Lord Nox might be able to help him was quickly dampened at the reminder that his Lord Father was more than likely out searching for him. "You're frightened," Lord Nox said suddenly, making Jon start. "Why?"

Swallowing, Jon lowered his head in shame. "My father. He's going to be so mad at me."

"Of course he is," Lord Nox answered, surprising Jon with just how quickly he did. "He's your father. And you ran away and went off on a potential dangerous, and, quite frankly, idiotic quest to find some 'fallen star' you may or may not have even seen. But do you know why your father will be angry with you?"

Biting his lip, Jon tucked his legs in close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "Because I disobeyed him."

"No – well, yes, in part," Lord Nox nodded. "But the true reason as to why he will be angry with you is because he is scared."

"Scared?" Jon repeated, looking up at the man who'd saved his life and feeling slightly offended. "My father is Warden of the North! Lord of the North! He fought in the Rebellion against the Targaryens and won! He fought against Ser Arthur Dayne and won! He isn't afraid of anything!"

The stranger merely shook his head at the end of Jon's rant. "Young man, there is still much you need to learn. First and foremost is that there are many, many types of fear. Just because one has courage to fight on the frontlines or face a superior opponent does not mean that they do not know fear. The fear that you instilled in your father is the fear of loss. For it is our loved ones that can usually cause the greatest of fears to rear its ugly head."

Blinking, Jon tried to piece together just what the masked Lord was talking about. _'Many types of fear? Those we love can cause the greatest of fear? He isn't making any sense!_'

"But all of this philosophy is a discussion for another time," Lord Nox stated, bringing an end to the conversation as he rose to his feet and kicked some dirt over the small fire to smother it. "I think it is high time that I brought you back to your father, don't you?."

Rising to his feet with the masked Lord, Jon bit his lip as he turned around in a slow circle, trying to find any sign of the path he took to get to this point. After two passes and not finding any sign of how he got to where they were, Jon turned back to the masked Lord feeling more than slightly embarrassed. "Do…Do you know where to go? I – I lost my way and don't know the way back."

Picking up a single sack that was nearly half as tall as Jon was, the masked Lord slung it over his shoulder and nodded off in a seemingly random direction. "I don't think we need to worry about finding our way. There are over a dozen men less than a quarter mile in that direction. And one of them…has a familial connection with yourself."

Springing around quickly and facing off in the direction the masked Lord had nodded towards, Jon squinted into the forest trying to see if he could see the men. But all he could see were…trees. "How…How do you know?" he asked, turning back to the masked Lord. "I can't see anything other than trees."

Jon wasn't sure, but he was pretty sure the muffled noise coming out from under the masked Lord's helmet was him laughing. "In time, Jon, you will learn that there are many ways to 'see'. Now, come. If we're lucky, we can make this reunion short and make our way back to the camp the wildlings were using. They won't be using it again, and no sense in letting it go to waste."

Deciding to trust the masked Lord, Jon fell into step beside him as he led the two of them away from the smothered fire and off into a seemingly random direction of the forest. After a few minutes Jon was beginning to have his doubts about what Lord Nox had 'seen', because all he could see were trees and more trees. But just as he was about to say something, he saw a flicker of something between the trees a fair distance away. He felt his heart race as he spotted the flicker again, and then another beside it. And his heart went racing as he heard a faint but familiar voice calling his name through the trees.

"Father!" Jon yelled, taking off like a bolt from a crossbow through the tress as he sprinted for what he was sure was his lord father.

"Jon!" His voice! That was his father's voice! Which only served to quicken Jon's sprint even more.

Jon didn't even notice the trees passing him by, nor anything else as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards the towering form of his father. Nearly jumping the last little of space between the two, Jon began crying openly as he clung to his father. "I'm sorry, father!" he cried, holding tightly onto his father as all the emotions he'd been holding back came to the surface. "I – I should've never…I'm sorry!"

"Gods, Jon," His father's voice and arms that were holding Jon tight against him were as comforting as a warm blanket in the middle of winter. "Gods, Jon…I am so…gods…"

Feeling his father's hands move to his shoulders and gently push him back, Jon tried his best to hold back the tears falling freely from his eyes as he stared into his father's grey eyes. "I'm sorry, father." Jon sniffed. "I – I don't know what I was doing go-"

"By the gods, that's for damn sure!" His father growled in a low tone, making Jon flinch. "Do you have any idea what you have put me through these past few days? You could've been hurt in these woods! You could've died, Jon! What in the name of the gods possessed you to come out here on your own!?"

Feeling more than slightly ashamed, Jon suddenly found his feet incredibly interesting as he couldn't meet the disappointed look in his father's eyes. "I – I wanted to find the fallen star I saw. I – I wanted to prove that I – that I'm not just a…a bastard. I just…I just wanted you to be proud of me."

"Hells, Jon. Look at me, son," Lord Stark breathed, on hand going underneath his chin to tip his head up and forcing him to meet his father's eyes. "I am proud of you. I'm as proud of you as I am of Robb. Never doubt that. And never, _never_, do anything foolish like this ever again! Do you understand me!?"

"Yes, father." Jon sniffed, feeling conflicted as he felt happy that his father said he was proud of him, and ashamed at the anger and fear he'd caused in his father.

"My Lord," A guardsman, who Jon recognized quickly as the Captain of the Guard, Jory Cassel, walked up next to the two them, his eyes wandering around the forest. "We should leave quickly, my Lord. The wildlings from the camp we just found cannot be far from here."

"There is no need to worry about the wildlings. They have been taken care of."

Jon had never seen his father's men move so fast as they did when the distorted voice of Lord Nox spoke. Although, how the strange Lord managed to sneak up on them in the first place was beyond Jon. The guardsmen of Winterfell quickly formed a line in front of Jon and his Lord father, separating the two of them from Lord Nox while drawing their swords from their sheathes.

"Fath—Lord Stark," Jon said, trying his best to keep his voice steady as his fought against his still raw emotions. "This–This is Lord Alim Nox. He saved me from the wildlings! He's an incredible sorcerer! He fought the wildlings off with a sword made of fire! And he healed my leg as well!"

His father stared first at Jon and then up to Lord Nox. After a moment's hesitation that almost seemed to last forever, his father nodded to the guardsmen of Winterfell, all of whom immediately lowered or sheathed their weapons and took a step back. Falling into step behind his father, Jon followed Lord Stark as he stepped towards Lord Nox. Once they were within a few paces of the strange Lord, his father stopped, and Jon was left to stare with an ever-growing amount of worry as his father and Lord Nox just stood there staring at one another.

"Lord Nox," his father finally said, breaking the silence between the two. "I am unaware of any Lord carrying that name in the North or the South. Where do you hail from?"

"I would be surprised if you knew," Lord Nox answered in his distorted voice. "Suffice to say that it is a fair distance from these lands, such that I can never return nor can anyone from my home be likely to find me."

"He's lost, father." Jon spoke up, wanting – no, needing – to stand up for the man he'd soon realize he was quickly coming to idolize for saving him from the wildlings. "He has nowhere to go."

His father spared him a quick look before returning to Lord Nox. "I would ask then that you remove your helm, my Lord. I would know the face of the man responsible for saving my son's life."

Jon held his breath as Lord Nox moved his hand up to his face plate and grabbed hold of it. A strange hissing noise sounded as the mask almost seemed to fall off his face. As his hand fell with the mask in hand, Jon couldn't help but gasp. The strange Lord was young! Younger than his father. But even then, he had hair the color of silver! It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. But stranger still was the single black cloth that ran over the Lord's eyes. A cloth that would've been impossible to see though. There was only one other person Jon had ever seen wear such a thing. One of the old blind men from Winters Town. Which meant... "You're…You're blind?!" Jon nearly shouted in surprise.

"Jon," His father chided him, making him flinch.

But instead of seeming to be offended, Lord Nox merely smiled. "If you mean that I cannot see as you do, then yes. I am blind as you understand it. But as I told you just a short time ago, young Jon, there are many ways that one can see. And I use those ways to compensate for my lack of eyes."

Jon frowned until he made the connection. "Magic!" he shouted excitedly. "You use your magic to see! That's how you knew my father and his men were close by!"

"Jon," His father chided him once again, this time making Jon take a step back and slightly behind his father. "I apologize, Lord Nox, for my son's behavior."

"There is no need to apologize, Lord Stark," Lord Nox responded with a wave of his hand. "He is a child. An inquisitive nature is only natural. And something to be encouraged, as long as they understand that there are limits."

His father nodded and then paused as he continued to stare at Lord Nox. "You saved my son's life, Lord Nox, House Stark owes you a debt of gratitude. And as you are a stranger to these lands, I invite you to rest at Winterfell until such time as you can find your own way."

Lord Nox bowed his head slightly in response and Jon felt his heart jump at the thought of the foreign Lord staying with them for a time. "You're offer is much appreciated, my Lord."

His father nodded before adding, "Despite you saving my son, however, I must ask that you aid House Stark in some manner as you rest in Winterfell. Everyone in Winterfell has a purpose, and I would ask that you find one as well during your stay."

Again, Lord Nox's lips curled upwards. "Don't worry, Lord Stark. I'm sure there are quite a few things I can offer you and your House to help earn my stay."

* * *

Sitting before the low burning fire with his back set firmly against a tree and a soundly sleeping Jon tucked into a small ball next to him, Lord Eddard Stark stared across the makeshift camp at the one who'd apparently saved his son. The man was an enigma. First, there was the fact that he defeated a group of wildlings on his own while blind aside, a fact that Ned was still trying to come to terms with. And that he'd then brought Jon back to him had earned him Ned's gratitude. But even still, there was something almost…off about the apparently sleeping man across from him that Ned just couldn't put his finger on.

After finding his son and sending Jory and two others to verify that the wildlings were apparently dealt with, Ned had started asking the stranger a series of questions, trying to pry whatever information he could from the man without making it seem like he was interrogating him. He wasn't of Westeros, that much was obvious to anyone. But his accent, Ned couldn't place it. Essos was the most likely candidate, but of all the traders that Ned had spoken with over the years, which admittedly was a limited few, none had the same drawl as this man.

Then there was his armor. Ned had never seen armor like it before, but it was obviously very well made. And obviously made to intimidate with its pitch-black coloring and spiked almost claw-like gauntlets. It also appeared to be almost too thin to be of actual use in battle. A good war hammer looked like it could still cave the man's chest in without much trouble. But what it potentially sacrificed in strength, it more than made up for in terms of allowing a wide range of movement. While heavy plate mail was good for taking blow after blow on the battlefield, it could be highly limiting. This style of armor was not. Then there was the mask. A solid piece of metal with a strip of Myrish glass for an eye-slit. Another abnormality. How did he breathe in it without a way to let air flow through?

Then there was his face, which Ned could admit was quite comely, enough so that many a maiden would swoon at the sight of him without his mask. But it wasn't his comely look that demanded attention. Nor his silver hair which instantly reminded Ned of the Targaryens. No, that belonged to the finely made black and gold cloth that covered his now-ruined eyes. The fact that he was able to overcome such adversity and excel spoke volumes of his will. But even still, Ned had seen blind men before. Even if they'd had years to get used to their condition they would still fumble on occasion, especially through terrain such as the wolfswood. But this Nox did not fumble once. His steps were sure and his movements precise. Gods, he was even able to catch the guard that'd been walking next him when he'd tripped. Ned had no idea just how he was able to move as he did. But Jon apparently did; magic.

_'Magic_,' the very word stirred a complex well of thoughts within him. The North and the First Men have always been more open to the idea of magic than their Andal brethren. Hells, his own family's history was littered with tales of Starks that were supposed masters of the magical arts, including skin-changing into wolves and the greensight. And Bran the Builder had supposedly used to magic, in conjunction with the Children of the Forests magic, to help build his wonders. So, the Northern aspect of him accepted that it was a possibility. But he hadn't been raised in the North, at least not entirely. His time in the Vale had instilled a sense of…doubt, as it were. He didn't believe that magic was inherently evil, as many Andals believed. Magic was merely a tool, much like a sword. It all depended on the user. But at the same time, was magic even still around? And if it was, should it be used at all?

Valyria had been reputedly to be rife with magic, yet that did not save the greatest civilization from collapsing in the Doom. Many Maesters even accredited the Doom to some form of magic gone wrong. And then there was the dragons, the alpha predator and greatest of magical creatures. If magic still existed, did that mean that it was possible for the dragons to return as well? Such a thought did not bode well in the mind of the Warden of the North. Especially if the remaining Targaryens or their loyalists got a hold of them. If they did, they would no doubt live up to their house words and bring fire and blood to all those who were responsible for removing them from the throne. 'Well, maybe not all of them,' he thought, his eyes almost involuntarily flickering to Jon before he forced his eyes away and back to Nox.

Before he could ponder the enigma that was this mysterious Alim Nox, one of his guardsmen gently prodded him on the shoulder. "Milord, Jory has returned with the others."

Nodding, Ned carefully extracted himself from Jon's side, taking care not to wake the boy as he stood up. After casting one last glance down at Jon and a sideways glance towards Nox, he turned his back on the camp and made his way towards his Captain of the Guard who was standing just outside of hearing range from the camp.

As he got closer to his Captain and the two he'd sent with him, he noticed something. Despite the steadily fading light of the sun, all three men appeared to be slightly ashen for some reason. "What did you find?" Ned asked the moment he was close enough to Jory and outside of hearing range of the camp.

The three men looked at one another as if they weren't sure just how to answer his question. "We…found the wildlings, Lord Stark," Jory answered after a moment's hesitation. "At least, what was left of them."

Frowning, Ned looked around the woods. "Did an animal get to them first?"

"No," Jory replied almost immediately.

"Then what happened?" Ned asked, starting to grow impatient. These were grown men who, while they may not have been a part of the Rebellion, had certainly bloodied themselves on bandits and wildlings in the past.

"It…It was a slaughter, my lord." Jory finally answered, swallowing deeply as if trying to find the words to explain what he'd seen. "The wildlings, they…they were cut to pieces. Literally. Some looked to have drawn and quartered. Arms, legs and heads all cut clean off. There was even a torso that'd been cut in half with what appeared to be a single stroke of a blade. And that wasn't all my lord. All the wildling's wounds were…burned. Cauterized. As if whatever had made them was red hot. What kind of weapon can do that, my lord? And it wasn't only their bodies, but their own weapons as well. Spears and even an iron sword were cut clean in half. What weapon is sharp enough to cut through bone, leather, flesh, wood and iron while at the same time being hot enough to burn the flesh closed? It…It was almost as if he'd—"

"Used a sword made of fire," Ned answered for his Captain, echoing exactly how Jon had described the weapon Nox had used just a short time ago.

"Aye, my lord," Jory nodded. "Exactly as your bastard said. What should we do, my lord? This…apparent sorcerer, he massacred eight wildlings on his own while at the same time protecting young Jon and all without taking a single wound to his person. What manner of knight is he?"

Only years of practice kept Ned from bristling at the slight against Jon. _'He's not a bastard. But he has to be for his sake and the realms_.' But Jon's status aside, Jory's question wasn't without merit. "We are not the south, Jory. We're the North. We do not bristle at the thought of magic." He said, doing everything in his power to keep his voice steady despite his own considerable doubt in his own words. "His abilities aside, the fact remains that he saved my son. Until he proves otherwise, he has earned the benefit of the doubt. And according to him, he has no way of returning home. So, once we reach Winterfell, he will be given guest rights and permission to stay if he can prove himself useful. We have no need for freeloaders in the North. But even still, I want a constant watch kept on him, but from a distance. Understood?"

"Yes, my lord," Jory responded immediately, closing his fist across his heart in salute. "And what of his apparent weapon? This sword made of fire. Just from looking at him, unless he has somehow managed to fit a sword in that bag he carries around, he looks to be unarmed."

At this, Ned scratched thoughtfully at his beard. "We will inquire to see his weapon on the morrow, before we leave the forest and ask for a demonstration of its capabilities. Better we learn now what he might be capable of instead of waiting for us to reach Winterfell. Now, you and your men get some rest. We've set a hard pace, and we will be setting the same pace on our trip back to Winterfell."

"Yes, my lord," Jory nodded, once again saluting him with a hand over his heart before setting away from Ned and making his way back to the camp.

Watching his man head back to the camp, Ned stared up at the steadily darkening sky above his head. He'd felt something…almost shift the moment Nox had accepted his offer to stay in Winterfell. It felt…almost like something was glad that this foreign Lord was going to stay in the North for some time. _'Is this a sign from the old gods?_' He thought as he made his way back to the small camp. _'I cannot say for sure. But one thing I know, even without a sign from the gods, is that this foreign Lord is about to change things. I can only pray that the old gods are graceful and smile upon House Stark and the North, and that whatever changes this man brings about will be for the betterment of the North and the Realm_.'

* * *

Their journey out of the forest, or as Lord Stark had referred to the 'wolfswood', was for the larger part uneventful. Save of course for the morning after Lord Stark and his men had come across Nox and Jon. That morning before they could depart, Lord Stark had requested a demonstration of whatever weapon he'd used to fight and the kill the wildlings the day prior. Seeing no reason not too, Nox revealed his single bladed lightsaber, the memento from his ancestor Lord Kallig that he always carried on him.

To say that Lord Stark and his men had been unimpressed and confused by the slightly curved lightsaber hilt he pulled out from within his robes would be an understatement. But those feelings were replaced immediately with wonder and fear the moment he activated his lightsaber, producing the blood-red blade. Those feelings were only exacerbated when Nox had then demonstrated the sheer power of the lightsaber as he cut down a tree nearly two feet in diameter with a single swing.

The demonstration unfortunately had the unattended consequence of making the Northmen more than slightly wary of him. Something that he didn't need. Not if he wanted to rebuild his powerbase and make a name for himself. So, to begin earning the trust of Lord Stark and his men, Nox had voluntarily surrendered his lightsaber to the Warden of the North. Of course, he didn't mention the fact that he still had over a dozen more lightsabers and saber staffs hidden in the bag he was carrying. He needed to earn the trust of these men if he was going to rebuild his powerbase, but he wasn't stupid enough to leave himself unarmed in the presence of those who were still unsure of him. He'd also decided to forgo his mask for the time being. He needed to be Nox, not Darth Nox, if he intended to win these men over at the start.

After two days of navigating the forest, they finally made their way out of the trees and into an open field where, amazingly enough, Lord Stark had previously ordered another few of his men to remain camped with their horses for the ride back to Winterfell. Lord Stark had, of course, apologized for not having a horse for him and offered to have him ride double with one of the small guardsmen. But Nox had declined, stating that he'd be able to keep pace much to the disbelief of everyone. After nearly a full day at a slight trot, Nox almost found the men of the North's expressions amusing as he not only managed to keep pace, but at some parts of their trek he was the one making the pace, not the horses.

His amusement however was cut abruptly short the moment the seat of House Stark, Winterfell, came into view.

To say that Nox was struck speechless was an understatement. Nox had traversed most of the known galaxy. He'd seen some of the most beautiful and amazing architectural marvels in the known galaxy. But Winterfell, the castle – no, the small _city_ within a fortress – was a true sight to behold. One that would make even the most pompous of Alderaanian nobles green with envy. Especially when taken in with the fading light of the evening sun.

The first most notable thing about the fortress were the two sets of walls that served as the primary defense for the interior. The first of the two grey-granite walls reached nearly eighty-feet high on a low estimate, with the secondary wall behind it reaching even higher. The only access point he could spot on the north side of the fortress was large gatehouse structure built into the outer wall. As they passed through the gatehouse, Nox's amazement grew as he noticed that there was an actual moat that separated the two walls.

_'Incredible_,' he thought as he followed the horses across the two drawbridges that connected the outer wall to the interior wall and into the castle ward proper. _'To an army on foot, Winterfell is neigh unbreachable. The moment any army approached, they can raise the drawbridges connecting the two walls, effectively making it so that even if they could take the guard house, they would not be able to cross the expanse between the two walls. The only way would be to scale the walls, not an easy task. And even if you managed to claim the outer wall, the wooden bridges that connect the two walls up top look to be collapsible. Meaning the attackers would be stuck on the outer wall with no protection from the defenders on the second, more elevated wall. The only feasible way for an attacking army to gain access to the inner wards would be if they could fly. Not a hard task for the Empire or the Republic, but given the apparent technological placement of this world, it is doubtful they have any form of aircraft available to them_.'

Once they'd passed by the inner wall, Nox was struck with his second surprise. The space within the fortress was…warm, far warmer than should've been possible. The tall walls certainly did a number in preventing cold winds from reaching the interior of the fortress, but that alone could not account for the sudden increase in temperature. Reaching out with the Force, he quickly found the answer for the warmth. '_A natural hot __spring_,' he thought, more than slightly surprised as he felt further into the very walls of the inner most buildings and felt something unusual for a society of this technological level. _'Interesting. They've managed to channel the warm water from the underground hot springs into the very walls themselves using a crude sort of __plumbing__. And they managed to do so without sacrificing structural integrity of the buildings. Simply amazing_.'

But the one thing that truly awed Nox about the fortress of Winterfell was what he saw when he looked at it with the Force. It was almost as if the Force had been used and integrated into the very construction of every building and every wall within the confines of the walls. The entirety of Winterfell was positively radiating with the Force. In all his travels, he'd only ever encountered such a phenomenon four times before. The Force temples on Korriban, Dromund Kass, Yavin 4 and Tython. But unlike those four; which were steeped heavily in either the Dark or Light side of the Force, Winterfell was almost…neutral in regard to the Force as both the Dark side and the Light side of the Force flowed through it.

"Beautiful." Nox mumbled to himself as he walked side by side with Lord Stark as he guided his horse through the many buildings that made up the inner workings of Winterfell before passing through yet another gated wall within the fortress and into a large courtyard.

As they entered the courtyard, Nox felt himself once again awed at what he sensed. Directly across from him was what could only be the primary keep within Winterfell. The keep stood twice as tall as any of the other buildings in the immediately vicinity. Attached to the keep was large hall which he could only assume to be some sort of dining hall as he could only sense a scant few living bodies within.

Frowning at the observation, he stretched out with his senses again and felt completely puzzled. Despite the massive size of Winterfell, the fortress and the small little settlement that laid outside its walls were sparsely populated. _'Most peculiar_.' Nox mused. _'So much space wasted. An opportunity…perhaps. There is room for growth. But there must be a reason why so few populate such a place as this. I'll just need to figure out what that reason is before I can begin working on changing it_.'

Refocusing himself on the here and now, Nox straightened himself to his full height as the horses he was walking beside began to slow to a stop. As he righted his senses, he became aware of the line of people standing just before the entrance to the main keep. _'Lord Stark's family and servants no __doubt,_' he thought as he began running through the three lines of people spread out before them.

The rear most line was made up of servants to House Stark, small folk that'd been granted the honor and privilege of working for a Great House. Their thoughts and emotions almost screaming out that they were pleased that their Lord had returned. A few however were not just ordinary servants. The second line contained only three men. But those three were as different from one another as possible. Two of the men he could tell had keen intellects. But one, the one with a chain around his shoulders, was the more learned of the two. The third man however, while maybe not as intellectual as his counterparts, was martially trained. And well trained if the manner he held himself was any tell.

Then there was the front line of four; one grown woman and three children. _'Lord Stark's wife and children_.' Nox thought as he immediately felt the connection between the three younglings and the man he'd chosen for follow for the time being. Lord Stark's wife was definitely a sight to behold. Long red hair, high cheekbones, fair skin and sharp blue eyes. But her beauty was immediately tainted for Nox the moment he sensed the maelstrom of emotions billowing within her. Sith embraced emotion, passion. But this woman…there was no pattern, no organization no path for her emotions. Love, anger, faith, fear, relief, disdain, hope, self-criticism…but most of all was the immense feeling of jealousy. An emotion that was only amplified as she laid eyes on young Jon. '_An enigma to be certain, one to keep an eye on_.'

But as Nox shifted his attention to the children of Lord Stark, he felt himself smile despite himself. All three, to one degree or another, were Force sensitive. The youngest girl was the most powerful of the three with the eldest being a close second and lastly was the middle child. None were as powerful as young Jon, but each were easily strong enough to pass the Trials of Korriban had they been born in the Empire. _'So many Force sensitive children born into a single family_.' Nox thought, the wheels in his mind turning at near the speed of light. _'Had this been the Empire, Lord and Lady Stark would've been elevated to the ranks of the highest nobility for being able to bring such powerful individuals to life. But none of them are trained…not even __in__ the basics of the Force. Perfect_.' If Nox hadn't already made up his mind to use Winterfell to rebuild his powerbase, seeing the children of Lord Stark cemented the idea in his mind. Four Force-sensitive, untrained children. The prospect was simply too great to ignore. _'Now…to find a means to keep myself here_.'

Keeping himself in the back, Nox observed Lord Stark and his family carefully as the Warden of the North dismounted his horse with Jon and greeted his family. True to what he'd sensed earlier, the woman in the lead greeted her husband warmly and with love. But the moment her eyes laid of Jon those emotions evaporated quicker than a puddle of water on Tatooine. Replaced with the overwhelming sense of jealousy and self-criticism. The children however were completely different. They greeted their father and Jon with equal enthusiasm. Especially the young girl who waddled up to Jon and immediately demanded to be picked up.

"-found him several days walk into the wolfswood," he heard Lord Stark say as he forced his attention away from the reuniting children and their quietly disapproving mother to Lord Stark as he addressed the three men in the second line. "He would've been done in if not for the actions of our newest companion here."

"I merely acted as any other would have, Lord Stark," Nox stated calmly, stepping forward and giving the Lord of Winterfell a slight bow.

"Aye, but you did." Lord Stark nodded as he proceeded to introduce Nox to the line of people. "Alim Nox, this is my wife Lady Catelyn Stark of House Tully."

"A pleasure, my Lady." Nox replied, bowing slightly and pressing a light kiss to the back of her offered hand, even if the act turned his stomach somewhat as her whirlwind of emotion nearly threatened to overwhelm him.

Nox didn't mind that the Lady of Winterfell didn't deem him worthy of a reply. As far as he could tell, she was merely an obstacle that he would have to navigate around carefully as he worked to integrate himself into House Stark. _'It wouldn't be fun if there wasn't a challenge involved_.'

"These are my children; my eldest and heir, Robb Stark. And my daughters, Sansa and Arya." Lord Stark continued when it became apparent that Lady Stark had already dismissed Nox from her presence.

"An honor to meet you as well. Your brother Jon has had nothing but good things to say about the three of you," Nox greeted the children kindly all the while ignoring the spike of hatred emanating from Lady Stark at the mere mention of Jon.

The eldest girl did a curtsey, which was mildly amusing and clumsy coming from the young girl. Robb and Arya however both merely stared up at him in wonder. Interestingly, it was the youngest of them who asked the most obvious question. "Why you…wear dat?"

"Arya!" Lady Stark snapped, turning sharply towards her youngest child.

Chuckling, Nox reached up and touched the cloth over his eyes. "I wear this because my eyes do not work as yours do, my Lady. For a time, I left them uncovered, but after a while, I decided that I like this better, makes me look more dashing, no? And it's a lot easier to catch others off guard if they simply assume I'm just another blind man that can't take three steps without tripping over his own two feet."

Amusement trickled off the four children as they all smiled up at him. _'Good, first impressions are the most importantly. And these children…they are the key. I can sense it through the Force_.'

"Come, children," Lady Stark cut in sharply. "It is late, and you need your rest. You can speak to your Lord Father again on the marrow."

Righting himself, Nox watched as Lady Stark rounded up her children and led them back into the keep. _'Well…at least the children find me amusing. Or at the very least intriguing. This Lady Stark will be an issue. But I faced greater challenges than a scorned and hateful wife during my rise to the Dark Council. She won't be a problem. More a nuisance than anything else_.'

"Forgive my wife…Lord Nox." Lord Stark said as he watched his wife retreat into the keep, leaving Jon behind to catch up as she kept her three children in front of her. "The hour is late, and it has been a trying experience for all of us since Jon disappeared days ago."

Nox doubted that it was Jon's disappearance that caused the Lady Stark's foul mood. More than likely it was his return that did that. But he wasn't about the call the Warden of the North on it. "Of course, my Lord, I understand completely. And no offense is taken."

Nodding, Lord Stark turned to the three men behind him. "This is Maester Luwin, Winterfell's Master at Arms Ser Rodrik Cassel and my Stewart Vayon Poole. Vayon, see to it that Lord Nox here is assigned a room in the guest quarters for the time being."

"Of course, my Lord." Vayon Poole said, bowing slightly before holding a hand towards the side building next to the keep. "Lord Nox, if you will please follow me, I will have one of the servants prepare a room for you."

"Of course, Stewart Poole." Nox nodded before turning back to Lord Stark once again, "Lord Stark, I look forward to offering House Stark and the North whatever assistance I can in the future."

After receiving a curt nod of dismissal, Nox turned and followed the steward away from Lord Stark and towards what he could only assume were the guest quarters. It irked him in no uncertain terms to be dismissed so easily, but for now he took it in stride. _'Soon, soon __enough,__ I will place my mark upon this world. But for now, I must be patient. Lord Stark isn't a bad __man. In__ fact, he is quite the __opposite, almost__ sickly good. He'd make a fine Jedi…but even Jedi can be corrupted. I just need to work at it. __Slowly,__ to be sure. But nothing worth having is easy. If nothing else…this will be fun_.'

* * *

It wasn't until the sun had fully dropped below the horizon that Lord Stark was able to find measure of peace as he entered his personal solar and sat down in the Lord's seat. Despite only being absent for a sennight, there had been dozens of issued that he'd needed to see to before he could rest. Master Mikken needed more metal. Ravens that required immediate answering. Shipments of grain that needed to be overseen and counted as the recent count was low. And dozens of other matters that required the Lord's attention that'd been neglected during his absence.

_'And to think, all of those were easy compared to what is about to come_.' He thought sullenly as he bent over his desk and began leafing through the numerous stacks of parchment that'd been left behind by Maester Luwin. '_It will not be long until Cat and the others arrive. And whatever peace I've managed to find will be gone_.'

True to his prediction, he'd only managed to get through two of the less serious ravens that'd been left to him before Cat made her way into his solar with Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, and Vayon close behind. Letting out the breath he didn't even realize he was holding, Ned set down the message from Rickard Karstark and gave his attention to his closest advisors. _'At least Cat decided not to do this in public this time_.' "I assume this is about my decision regarding Lord Nox, is it not?"

Vayon and Rodrik at least had the good graces to look slightly uneased, but Cat was having none of it apparently. "Ned, he's a stranger, a foreigner. And you not only gave him guest rights but lodging in the guest house! Why?"

"Because he saved Jon's life." Ned answered simply. "Before we could find him, Jon was set upon by eight wildlings in the wolfswood. If not for that man, Jon would be dead, and I would have more than likely lost a few men in an ambush in the woods as well."

"Forgive me, my Lord," Ser Rodrik interjected. "But how could an apparent blind man best eight wildlings in a fair battle? Is it not more likely that he too is a wildling and he turned on the others?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Ned nodded. "But it is doubtful that he is a wildling. His manner of speech speaks of a learned man. And his accent is completely wrong for a man of the North. And then there is his armor. It's far too well made to belong to a wildling, unless he stole it from a Lord. But even then, I have never seen it's like before. Not even during the Rebellion. But as for how he managed to defeat so many wildlings, I believe that his weapon made up for his apparent lack of sight."

Pulling out the strange hilt that Nox had surrendered to him, Ned placed the weapon on his desk and sat back. "Maester Luwin, I would appreciate your input on this weapon."

With a reverence as if he were being handed a newborn babe, Maester Luwin picked up the metal hilt and began to closely examine it. "This is…most unusual, Lord Stark," Maester Luwin mumbled as his fingers began to delicately trace the intricate patterns that were engraved into the hilt. "It's finely made…I know of no blacksmith capable of making such a piece. I doubt even the Maesters who have forged their links in metallurgy could fully explain this. Yet at the same time, it appears to be nothing more than an artistic hilt without a blade. If you forgive me for asking so, Lord Stark, how is it that you believe that this Nox was able to defeat the wildlings with this?"

Rising from his seat, Ned held out his hand and waited for Luwin to pass the hilt back over. Once he had it in hand, Ned carefully looked the hilt over until he found what he was looking for. When Nox had first demonstrated this weapon to them, Ned had paid close attention to how he manipulated the handle. And after he'd surrendered the hilt to him, Ned spent every night on the trip back to Winterfell trying to figure out how to duplicate what Nox had done. Placing his thumb over the slightly raised portion of the hilt, Ned held it across and away from his body.

The hilt hissed like quenched steel as the blood-red blade of fire extended outwards from the hilt. Luwin, Cat, Vayon and Rodrik were all struck speechless as they recoiled away in surprise, staring at the blade that hummed in air.

"By the gods." Vayon breathed, his eyes as wide as everyone else's as he nearly began to tremble. "What…What manner of sword is that?"

Maester Luwin was the first to overcome his stupor, as he cautiously stepped forward and reached out to take the now existing blade from Ned. "Be careful not to touch the blade." Ned warned as he carefully and slowly handed the weapon back over the Maester. "Nox gave us a demonstration the first morning he was with us. He felled an oak as wide as a grown man with a single, almost effortless, strike."

"How?" Ser Rodrik asked, overcoming his fear as he stepped forward and leant over slightly to better examine the glowing blade along with Maester Luwin. "It doesn't appear to have an edge. How does it cut?"

Maester Luwin didn't say anything, preferring to stay quiet as he slowly moved the blade through the air, taking note of the strange hum the blade emitted as it passed him by. Eventually, Luwin reached out and grabbed a blank piece of parchment from Ned's desk and, after receiving an affirmative nod from Ned, held the parchment just above the blade and then let go.

The parchment was cut in two the moment it passed through the blade, leaving two halves of parchment to fall to ground. Carefully taking the still humming weapon back from Luwin, Ned watched with a curious eye as the Maester leaned over and picked up the two halves of parchment from the floor.

"Most curious," Luwin muttered, examining the cut edge of parchment, which had a distinctive black tint to it. "I do not believe that this blade cuts, at least not in the traditional sense. It…If I had to guess, I would say that the blade burns through whatever it touches. Yet at the same time," holding out his hand, Luwin let his hand rest but a few finger widths away from the dangerous blood-red blade. "There is no heat being emitted from the blade. Incredible. Frozen fire that only exists when called upon…How can such a thing exist?"

It was Cat who answered first. Her already pale skin growing ever paler as her eyes were wide with fear and anxiety as a single word left her lips. "Sorcery."

Ser Rodrik's and Vayon's eyes both sparkled slightly in wonder even as Maester Luwin's narrowed in thought. "I do not believe that to be the case." Luwin muttered, looking conflicted as he visible tried to reason out what he was seeing. "Valyria was the last ember of magic in the world. And when the last of the dragons died out years ago, so too did the last bits of magic."

"Maybe in the south, Maester," Vayon responded quickly, his eyes taking an almost childlike delight. A strange look for the older man. "But this is the North. Magic still lives in the First Men and in the weirwoods."

Having gently taken the weapon back from the distracted Maester, Ned pressed down on the same part of the hilt again and watched as the blade retracted into the hilt and disappeared. "Jon believes Nox to be a sorcerer. Apparently before Nox came upon him, one of the wildlings put an arrow in Jon's leg. However, when we found the two, there was no wound. His clothes were bloodied and there was an arrow sized hole torn into his leggings, but his flesh was unmarred. Jon claimed that Nox used sorcery to heal his wound. And you've seen him move. Despite not having the use of his eyes, he moves with the grace of a skilled tracker. His steps never falter. And he has admitted that while he cannot see in the normal sense, he uses his magic to see for him."

"So, he _admits_ to practicing _sorcery!?_" Cat nearly screeched. "Ned, you _can't_ let him stay! Think of the influence he will be on our _children!_ He could _corrupt them_ irreversibly with his mere _presence!_"

Setting the hilt down on his desk, Ned dropped heavily down into his seat. "My decision is final, Cat. He has shown no reason for us to distrust him, magic or no magic. And until he does, and as long as he earns a place here in Winterfell, he will be welcome within these walls. I will not throw him out when he has nowhere to go for something that he 'might' do, Cat. His actions in saving Jon's life has earned him the benefit of the doubt at the very least."

Cat was clearly not happy about his decision, but she knew well enough that once his mind was set that there was no changing his decision. _'Doesn't mean that my bed will be warm for the foreseeable future. But perhaps she will find solace in my next decision_.' He thought to himself before speaking once more. "However, I must admit that his arrival and saving of Jon was most…timely. Therefore, until he proves himself fully useful, I want him watched. Discreetly. Vayon, assign a few of the house staff to keep an eye on him. But stress that they are not to interfere with his day to day activities."

Vayon was quick to nod in agreement. "As you wish, my Lord."

"Maester Luwin," Ned continued, turning to the aged Maester. "I know that the discovery of this weapon would be of great interest to the Citadel, however I must ask that for now you do not inform the Citadel of its existence. At least until we gain a better understanding of this weapon."

"My Lord!" Luwin exclaimed, clearly taken aback. "Such a find should not be hord-"

"We don't even fully understand what this weapon _is_, Maester Luwin, nor how to replicate it." Ned stressed, cutting off the Maester. "If we spread word that such a weapon exists and is in our hands, there would be many in the Realm that would stop at nothing to get their hands on it. Can you imagine the devastation that this single sword could cause if it falls into the wrong hands? The Mountain Who Rides, for example? Or the exiled Targaryens? How much gold could this blade fetch to the right people? No. For the moment, it is best that this weapon remains a secret in the North. Is that understood?"

Maester Luwin was clearly not pleased, but in the end, he proved true to his oaths to Winterfell and agreed to Ned's request. "Ser Rodrik," Ned continued, turning to the Master of Arms. "I want you and Jory to test Nox in the yard. I want to know if his defeat of the wildlings was fluke or not."

"It will be done, my Lord." Ser Rodrik responded with a curt nod.

"Good," Ned nodded moving his attention away from the four in front of him to the mountain of paperwork that lay scattered across his desk. "That is all."

Cat was the first to leave, her head held high as she marched out of his solar with Maester Luwin close behind her. Once he was alone, Ned buried his head into his hands and prayed to the old gods that he wasn't making a mistake. But no matter what he thought, he knew that he was making the right choice. It was a…_feeling_ he had. Almost as if the gods themselves were speaking directly to him, telling him that this stranger needed to find a home amongst his House. _'If he can do even half of what I believe, then he is far too valuable to let him leave. A fighter of his potential caliber is rare thing to find. And add his potential abilities with magic, he goes from being just rare to invaluable_.'

* * *

After being shown to his room by the Steward of Winterfell, a relatively modest room that measured maybe ten to fifteen paces across and wide with a bed and desk as the only furnishings, Nox went to work immediately to make it more suitable to suit his tastes. The bed he moved to the far corner of the room and the desk he moved to the other corner in order to make as much room for movement as possible. When he noticed the chamber pot behind a partition, Nox just barely kept himself from shuttering. _'Alright…first things first. I think I'm going to have to introduce these people to the wonders of indoor plumbing. Because there is no way I'm pissing and shitting into a bucket for the rest of my natural life.'_

After making sure he had adequate space in his room, he slung his bag off of his shoulder and dumped its contents out on the bed. Setting aside the dozen lightsabers and saberstaffs, Nox stared down at what he had left. _'First aid kit. Flashlight. Some seeds. Charcoal water purifier. Lighters. Compass. Personnel locator beacon. Not like that will be much use. And a durasteel knife. Not a lot to go with…but better than nothing.'_

Stepping away from the bed, Nox raised his hands to shoulder height straight out to his sides and slowly began to turn. Reaching out with the Force, he examined every square inch of his room: the dimensions; how thick the walls, floor, and ceiling were; how many other people were situated near to him. And most importantly, to see if there were any spies looking in on him. He was almost disappointed to find that there wasn't. _'Hmm, Lord Stark was smart enough to assign a tail to me during the trip to Winterfell. But he isn't smart enough to put me in a room that can be spied upon? Although…it doesn't seem like any of the rooms have any hidden passages or compartments in this part of the keep. Foolish_.'

Walking to the nearest wall, Nox pressed his palm against the warm stone. Through the Force he could feel the flow of the warm water running through the walls of Winterfell like blood running through the veins and arteries of a body. An architectural marvel, especially when one factored in just how long Winterfell has stood for. _'Water has been running through the walls of this keep for centuries. No. For several millennia. And yet there has been no erosion within the walls. If one didn't know better, then it would be easy to believe that Winterfell is only a few years old. The Force truly is a wonder_.'

That was the only explanation that Nox had for the phenomenon. Somehow, whoever had built this keep had carefully woven the Force into every aspect of it to keep it from decaying to erosion or other natural factors. And they did it without using any advanced technology. Simply brilliant.

Walking the length of the room, Nox kept his hand on the wall as he searched for a section of wall that was deep enough and far enough away from the flow of water to suit his purposes. After completing half a circuit around the room, he found a spot. Kneeling, he carefully used the Force to break the mortar holding a group of stones in place and then pulled them out. Setting the section of wall on the floor, he summoned one of the lightsabers on his bed to his hand. Moving with the delicacy of a surgeon, he slowly and carefully carved out the back of the stone section until he created a pocket three feet across, a foot deep and two feet tall. Satisfied, he summoned the other lightsabers one at a time and carefully arranged them in the newly formed pocket and, once he'd set the last one in, placed the section of wall back where he'd gotten it from.

_'There will come a time when I will have need of those_.' He thought, running a finger along the broken mortar and doing his best to reseal it enough so that no one would notice. _'But for now, it's better to keep them in a safe place_.'

With that taken care of, Nox made his way to the center of the room and sat down. Removing his chest armor, gauntlets and greaves, Nox made himself comfortable on the floor. Straightening his posture and relaxing, Nox let his emotions fuel him as he began to meditate. But the moment he felt the Force coming to him, his focus was abruptly and almost violently wrenched from him. _'That…tremor in the Force. __Wha—What__ caused that?_'

Rising from his spot, he approached his shuttered windows and threw them open with a push. Tilting his head, he reached out through the Force trying to find the source of the disturbance. '_There…__It's__ within the walls of Winterfell. But it is not human in origin. What could it be?_'

His curiosity getting the better of him, Nox stepped up onto his windowsill and out into the night, plummeting the three stories down to the ground and using the Force to soften his landing so that he hit the ground with barely a sound. Following the steady pulse of Force energy, Nox made his way around to the back of the keep, making sure he stayed in the shadows to avoid any prying eyes. As he rounded the back of the keep, he found himself faced with yet another wall, this one only twenty or so feet high, but still. _'Fuck…You can lock this place down tighter than a Hutt's credit chip if you wanted __too_,' Nox thought ruefully as he leapt off the ground and up onto the top of the wall.

_'Well…that is something I didn't think I'd see_,' he thought as he gazed out over the small woods that was encased within the walls of Winterfell. Scanning the tops of the trees, he focused in on the steady pulse that was emanating from the large red-leafed tree that dominated the center of the wooded area. _'A godswood…or weirwood I believe the __wildlings'__ called it_.' he thought, stepping off the edge of the wall into the wooded area beyond.

_'No guards save for the ones at the entrance_,' he noted as he made his way through the trees and towards the weirwood. _'I'm going to have to read up on these weirwoods first chance I get. They obviously hold great significance to both the wildlings and the people of Winterfell. But what that significance is remains a mystery to me_.'

A memory syphon, much like the one he'd used on the two wildlings in the wolfswood, was useful to learn bits of information that could be considered common knowledge, like language or names. But it wasn't useful for prying out secrets of information that the victim held onto. Prying into those would often result in destroying the mind of the individual being question. And if the subjects did not have an organized mind, or if they weren't educated, then deciphering any meaningful information from them was infinitely more difficult. As it was, he was fortunate to gain a basic understanding of the language, let alone any other useful bits of information about this land.

Coming to the center of the woods, Nox found himself amid a small clearing. The weirwood standing tall and proud acting like a beacon in the Force across from him with a deep dark pool of water separating them. Making his way around the reflective pool, he stood before the weirwood. Red sap falling free from the face that'd been carved into its bark. _'__Interesting__,_' he thought, stepping forward and reaching out to touch the beckoning tree.

The moment his fingers touched the white bark, he was forcibly pulled into a Force vision as darkness surrounded him. When the shadows cleared, he found himself staring at a game board. One end was situated with a throne made of thousands of swords that'd been melted together. As the vision progressed, he watched as stags, wolves, lions, dragons, roses, falcons, spears, fish and dozens of other animals and symbols fought over the right to sit upon the throne while all the while a spider and a mockingbird spread discord on all sides of the conflicts, each growing ever stronger. In the end, one did sit on the throne. A proud lioness who stared down with a smile at her fallen advisories. But as she sat, a darkness formed in the far reaches of the board…north. How he knew the direction he didn't know. But he knew the darkness came from the far north. And that the darkness had been watching the symbols fight and die while it waited to pick over their scraps.

As he watched, powerless to interact, the ancient darkness spread south and consumed all life. Eventually toppling the arrogant lioness off the throne and turning the swords to dust that scattered on the winds. With the fall of the throne, the darkness spread until it consumed every living thing on the planet. As it moved, darkness from all across the world also began to rise and joined with it, helping the ancient being to achieve its goal. And once it had, it set its eyes on the stars overhead, ready and willing to reach out for what lay beyond.

But before it could, the board was reset. The pieces returned to their starting places and a new game began. The moves were different, but the war was inevitable. Dozens of symbols were erased and in the end a dragon sat on the throne. Smiling vindictively at the smoldering embers of its enemies. Yet again, the darkness emerged and came south. And once again it consumed all life one piece at a time until all life was extinguished.

The board reset again. This time there was no war. Peace reigned throughout the land with a lion wearing the skin of stag sat on the throne of swords with a she-wolf at his side. But once again, the darkness emerged and began its conquest, slower this time. But the end was inevitable as once again it consumed all life in its path. Another reset. And Nox was more than slightly surprised as he took note that on this cycle, _he_ _himself_ was in the mix of symbols. He watched on, curiously, as his figure stood against the spreading darkness, only to become consumed by that same darkness and take part in bringing an end to all life on the planet.

Again, and again, Nox watched as the future played out, dozens, hundreds, thousands of configurations and outcomes. And each time the end was the same. No matter if there was war or not, no matter who sat on the throne of swords, no matter if he aided or not, the darkness consumed everything or turned it to its side. The visions came quicker and quicker as more and more options were presented. And, without fail, each one met the same outcome as the original.

'_What does it __mean?!_' Nox raged in frustration as he watched another failed attempt to stop the darkness, only for the board to once again reset. This time, something was truly different. He didn't know how he knew, but something this vision was unlike the others. Most of the details to end were obscured, but the end was clear. A wolf had shed its pelt and become something else entirely now sat on the throne with wolves and dragons and…another at its side. And behind this new figure he saw himself, guiding and aiding him. And with the new piece's ascension, the others bowed down in reverence. And this time, when the darkness came south, it faltered against the new piece that'd not been present before. He'd seen this figure before. It'd been present in numerous visions. Sometimes as a wolf, sometimes as the piece it was meant to be. But it'd always failed before. But this time, _this time_ the ancient darkness was defeated, its presence erased from existence. '_Why was this game so different from the others? Why was my sight of the moves blocked this time when it wasn't blocked before?'_

With a rush, Nox was forced out of the vision and back into the waking world.

Rocking back on his heels, he raised a hand to his head and fought against the wave of vertigo that threatened to overcome him. '_Hundreds of thousands of outcomes…but only one that leads to victory_,' he thought, rubbing his head trying to, and frustratingly failing at, remembering the specifics that led to the path of victory. _'Nothing is ever easy. But one thing is for sure. The path to victory requires the wolves, __dragons,__ and one other to survive the necessary war to come. If those three are not situated on or around the throne, then the others will not submit and the darkness from the North will prevail._' Pausing in his musing, he turned to the east and the slowly rising sun. _'Well…if I wasn't already set on aiding House Stark during my rise to power, my path is now set. For I have no intention of becoming just another disposable pawn in the ancient darkness's plan. Peace is a lie. There is only passion. Through __passion,__ I gain strength. Through strength, power. Through power, victory! Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall set me free. By this creed, the creed of the Sith. I will never be bound again!_'

Far away from Winterfell, in the Lands of Always Winter, an ancient and long forgotten darkness slowly began to awaken. And as it did, a smile graced its lips as the time of reaping was finally approaching.


	3. Winterfell Part 2

**So, here we are again. Now I was debating whether or not to say this...but last chapter I pretty much got an essay about how much the chapter sucked and going into detail about everything I'm doing wrong. Now, I could go off on a long tangent, but I'm not going too. All I'm going to say is that I do have a plan, and that things that may seem strange were not put in simply because I wanted to put them in. Well I did, but everything here has a plan. I've outlined pretty much this whole story that I'm writing now. So even something that may seem insignificant will mean something down the road. For those who've read IATB, you know what I mean.**

**There is another thing I want to address though. Nox is the main character, but much like Martin I'm going to be bouncing around from character to character so that you, the readers, can get more than one viewpoint as to what is going on. Also, I'm going to kind of skim over explanations of the Force and history of Westeros, mostly because I could spend chapters on outlining each and not go anywhere. So, we're going to keep such things short and sweet here in the opening chapters.**

**Again, reviews are more than welcome, but if you have criticism please keep them constructive and concise. And again, big thank you to my beta reader and brainstorm pal for this story Tellemicus Sundance.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

After receiving the more than slightly cryptic Force vision, Nox made haste to leave the godswood and return to his room within the guest house of Winterfell. Although to call it 'cryptic' was a misnomer. The vision was quite clear, which was an oddity in and of itself. Most Force visions gave the seer a glimpse of a possible future. But this vision, this vision gave him untold numbers of possible futures, each ending in failure before giving him one that succeeds. It was, strange. Not even the Voss for all their ability of foresight could have such a vision. He was going to have to spend hours in deep meditation to figure out just the hell the vision meant.

He managed to make the return unseen by any of the waking staff and had just managed to step foot back into his room as he felt a servant approach his room. The young girl who hesitantly knocked at his door was a pretty little thing with dark hair that was pulled back and tied into a single braid that nearly reached the small of her back. She held herself with confidence, but despite her apparent confident appearance, he could sense her nervousness and slight awe as she inquired whether he wanted to break his fast. Apparently, his actions in saving young Jon had gotten around the keep since they'd arrived the night prior.

He declined the offer of food, the Force would provide for him for the moment, and instead inquired about if Winterfell had a library and if so, where was it located. The young servant, Nyra as she introduced herself, proudly informed him that not only did Winterfell have a library, but that it was also one of the oldest in all of Westeros and was located within the tower adjacent to the godswood and was attached to both the guest hall and the main keep.

After giving the girl his thanks, he made his way to the library, setting his expectations low considering the state of this world. But when he arrived within the library, he quickly changed his opinion. The library tower was positively massive on the inside. And it seemed as if every square centimeter of shelf and table space was being used to house books, scrolls and even stone tablets. The part of Nox that remained the Head of the Pyramid of Ancient Knowledge was nearly salivating at the prospect before him. He knew many a Sith that would kill for the chance to claim this library for their own, himself included.

Making his way deeper into the library, Nox found a small out of the way table and cleared off the few books that were littered across its surface before heading in between the shelfs, holding his right hand up and running it across the shelves as he let the Force guide him. Within the span of a few minutes, Nox had collected nearly a dozen tomes regarding the history of this continent, Westeros, both ancient and recent as well as an in-depth history of the Northern Kingdom. Setting the books down heavily on the table, he pulled down the first book, one detailing the great and lesser noble houses of Westeros. If he was going to make sense of the vision he'd had in the godswood, then he needed to understand the major players in Westeros.

The wolves were easy enough as they represented House Stark. The oldest of the great houses of Westeros that'd been ruling the North for nearly eight thousand years. An admirably impressive accomplishment. They managed to unite all the kings of the North under one banner, creating the largest kingdom in Westeros and repelling dozens if not hundreds of invasions from the southern kingdoms. The dragons were the next house that he was interested in. But what he found disturbed him. The Targaryen's had been the ruling monarchs of Westeros for nearly three hundred years after one Aegon Targaryen and his sister wives defeated the individual kingdoms of Westeros and forced them into one unified land. And they must've had some inherent Force abilities as they were said to be able to control the alpha predators of this world. The dragons. And combined with the fact that some were said to even be immune to burning, his interest was definitely peaked.

But as he read on, he found his disgust with the Targaryen's grow quickly. Firstly was the fact that they somehow managed to fuck up and lose their greatest advantage and the means to which they kept the rest of Westeros in line. Their dragons, who were now supposedly extinct. And then there was their practice of breeding almost exclusively within their immediately family. Which was honestly completely idiotic. Genetic diversity was essential for the continued survival of a species, not to mention all the genetic disorders that can come about through inbreeding. And the Targaryen's proved to be an almost textbook example of this. Each ruler seemed to either be a great ruler, or an insane one. And more often than not, they fell onto the latter half of the equation. And in the end, it was their inbreeding to madness that led to their destruction as the Mad King Aerys Targaryen and his son Rhaegar Targaryen each contributed in separated events of stupidity and insanity that led the rest of the realm to rebel against them.

Moving on from the Targaryens and the Starks, he began sorting out the other Noble Houses that'd been represented in his vision. The lion represented House Lannister the rulers of the Westerlands, the rose was for House Tyrell the rulers of the Reach. Two of the wealthiest houses in the kingdom but for two completely different reasons. While the Lannisters made their wealth and fame from their gold mines, the Tyrells did it through food production. And while gold was useful, no mine was infinite. And according to what he'd read, Westerlands had been mining gold ever since before the Lannisters came into power. But no mine was infinity deep. If the mines hadn't already run dry, they had to be close. An advantage that he was going to have to investigate. The Tyrells however were the smarter of the two in his opinion. They were named Wardens of the South after bowing to the Targaryens after House Gardner was destroyed and proceeded to make a name for themselves by cultivating their food production. Until he could better spread food production around the land by introducing new techniques, he would have to keep close relations with that house. It was never a good idea to spit in the face of the ones who provided most of the food to a kingdom as large as Westeros.

Moving on from those two, he investigated the remaining Great Houses. The Tullys, rulers of the Riverlands and Lady Stark's family. House Arryn, rulers of the Vale of Arryn. Rather pretentious, even for a Sith, to name the land they ruled over after themselves. Then there were the Baratheons, rulers of the Stormlands, cousins to the Targaryens and now the ruling family of Westeros after the fall of the Targaryens. And lastly there were the Martells, the rulers of Dorne. The Martells and Dorne in general surprised him. For a patriarchal society, Dorne was the outlier. Their women could inherit and were also trained to fight side by side with the men. Impressively progressive given the era and worth looking into.

Then there were two other groups that warranted his attention. The Night's Watch and the Maesters. The Night's Watch was little more than a glorified penial colony that manned a wall that was, to be blunt, almost obscene. He hadn't believed the description of the wall the first time he came across it. But after crosschecking the supposed dimensions of the wall in three other works, he was forced to conclude that what he'd original read was true.

After he was done looking at all the major players, he began studying each of the individual regions of the land. Their estimated population, their exports and imports, their military prowess. Anything and everything he could find. A hundred leagues long, over seven hundred feet tall and three hundred feet thick. And apparently, according to every source he could find, the Wall was built to keep out the wildlings. _'Ridiculous,_' Nox thought as he read another book stating the same thing. '_You do not build a wall __like that__ to keep out an insignificant __rabble__ like the wildlings. No, the only reason you build a structure like that is too keep out something else. Something that could threaten all life on the other side. The darkness that I saw in my vision…__The Wall__ is the key to discovering just what that darkness is_.'

Making a mental note to come back to the Wall, Nox moved on to the next group; the Maesters. He was impressed at first to discover that this land had a dedicated learning system in place. Even if the culture on this world had not progressed enough to realize that women were just as capable as men. But as he read further and further into them, the more he began to question the motives of the Maesters. '_They say that they swear oaths to the cities __and castles, but__ not __to__ the Lords_.' He thought as he delved deeper into the Maesters' ideology. '_What a load of bantha shit. __Their__ oaths are just a cover for their true motives, nothing more._'

There was said to be one Maester in each keep in Westeros, acting as advisors and teachers to the Lords, Ladies, and their children in each keep. But when the Order was viewed through the eyes of a Sith, they became much more insidious. A single Order who would be left alone no matter if a keep was razed and the family butchered. The Maester would remain and serve the next Lord or Lady of the castle. A single Order who could whisper into the ear and 'give advice' to each Lord and Lady of the Realm, as well as the King and Queen. He would have to keep a close eye on these Maesters as well as keeping the Maester here at Winterfell at arm's length.

Setting aside his first pile of books, Nox got up from his spot once more and began to wonder through the shelves. '_If there is an organizational principle to this library, I've yet to find __it,_' Nox thought grumpily as he wandered through the shelves, letting his fingers brush lightly against the spines of the books. '_Outside of arranging the books, scrolls and tablets by dates, there is no other organization here. No genres. No authors. Nothing. __Though,__ I suppose that the sheer size of this library __can afford a forgiveness in the__ lax __on__ organization. But if I'm going to be making any headway in the near future in this __place,__ I'm going to need to have this library properly organized. Perhaps…yes. I'll write up an organizational structure of the library and give it to Lord Stark. The problem will be in finding those literate enough to help with the organization_.'

After selecting another armload of books and scrolls, Nox made his way back to his workspace and dropped the books down heavily onto the tabletop. Turning his back on the pile of books, he set off into the depths of the library once more, this time searching for something to write on and something to write with. It took him nearly an hour, but eventually he managed to locate a pile of blank parchments as well as an ink well and a quill. '_I swear_,' Nox sighed, shaking his head as he resumed his seat and dipped the tip of the quill into the ink. '_I think I'm the first Sith in thousands of years to actually have to lower themselves to writing with a quill and ink!_'

Putting quill to paper, he began writing out improvement ideas as well as other potential plans or observations. While some of his more immediate and easier ideas he spent the time to write out in the written word of this world, most of his own writing meant for himself was done in aurebesh. Not because he wanted to hide what he was doing, but mostly because while he could read the written word of this planet, he was by no means an expert. And trying to write out the unfamiliar language for all his ideas and plans would slow him down considerably.

After filling out his fourth sheet of parchment, Nox leaned back in his seat and rotated his wrist, cracking his wrist in several places as he did so. "You can come out from behind the shelf, Nyra. I won't bite despite what some may think of me."

The sound of a gasp coming from behind him, followed quickly by the jostling of a tray and the scampering of feet told him all that he needed to know. Not that he had any doubts. It'd been a long time since anyone had managed to sneak up on him. "I – umm…I'm sorry for disturbing you, my Lord." The young serving girl stuttered nervously as she slowly approached him.

"You're not," he responded, pushing aside a few books and clearing a space for her. "Your timing is impeccable. Please, place the tray right here and have a seat if you wish. Far easier to watch me while you're sitting down instead of pretending to clean the same three bookshelves over the past few hours."

He could almost hear her heartbeat as she approached, setting the tray down next to him. The smell of the warm bread and warm soup made his stomach lurch as it decided to remind him that he'd skipped eating this morning in favor of getting to work. Picking up the bread, he tore off a piece and dipped it into the soup, being careful to keep both away from the pages he was working on as he took a bite.

"Are you going to sit?" he asked of the serving girl after taking another bite of food. "I'm sure the seat will be much more comfortable for you."

Biting her lip, Nyra stood still for a moment as she visibly weighed her decision about whether to stay or go. In the end her curiosity about him won out and daintily sat down across from him. The two sat in silence as Nox finished off the last of the offered meal. "Tell you what, Nyra, how about we play a game?"

"A game, milord?"

"Yes," he nodded, picking up his quill and picking up where he left off on his notes. "You're obviously curious about me, and I'm sure the rumor mill is abuzz about me as well. So, here's the game. You ask me a question, any question you wish, and I will answer. And then I will ask you a question. Seem fair?"

Nyra considered his offer for a moment before nodding. "Yes, milord."

"Splendid," Nox smiled while motioning for her to proceed. "So, ladies first."

"Are you truly blind, milord?" Nyra asked without hesitation.

Smirking, Nox reached up and untied the cloth from around his eyes. Across from him, Nyra gasped loudly as his eyes were revealed to her. "Not a pretty sight, are they?" Nox asked rhetorically as he put the cloth back around his eyes. "I don't just wear this because it makes me look dashing."

"I – I'm sorry, milord. Who would do such—?"

Waving his hand, Nox cut her off. "It doesn't matter. It's the past and I can't change what happened. But now, it's my turn in our little game, no? So, what is your opinion on the Starks? And feel free to be honest. Nothing you say will leave the two of us."

Not wanting to take any chances that the young woman might skirt around the truth, Nox gently probed her with the Force, encouraging her to speak more freely than she might've otherwise. "The Starks have ruled the north for thousands of years." Nyra replied almost immediately, her voice taking on a note of respect and awe. "They are always just and fair, especially during the winter years. It was such a terrible thing that happened to Lord Rickard, Lord Brandon, and Lady Lyanna. I was barely a woman flowered when they all died. But I remember clearly how the North mourned for their loss. And, in the end, the dragons paid dearly for thinking they could do what they wanted to the wolves. And Lord Stark has been a great Lord for the North so far. And little Robb is such a good boy. Even Lord Stark's bastard son, Jon, is a nice boy. It's such a shame that Lad – I…I shouldn't say more."

Her answers intrigued him greatly. Not because of the events around the Targaryens and the Starks, he already knew about that. No, what truly piqued his curiosity was the comment she made when describing the Starks. "Winter years?" Nox asked, seeking clarification. "Do you mean to say that winter here in the North can last for years? And does winter affect only the North, or is all of Westeros affected by the season?"

Nyra seemed taken aback by his question. "Yes, milord. The last winter lasted nearly three years and ended just a year past. And…yes. All of Westeros is affected by the winter years."

Rocking back in his seat, Nox hummed. _'That changes things. If winter lasts for years, that means that these people have excellent storage and preserving techniques for their food. But even with the best of techniques, fresh produce and livestock are a necessity. The greenhouses they have are insufficient to feed all of Winterfell and the small settlement outside the walls. Which means they either ration greatly during these years or they import their food from outside lands. This means that my first project will be to better their greenhouse techniques and expand their operations to better suit the needs of the people during winter_.'

"Forgive me, milord. Is this not how winter and summer is in your homeland?"

"No," Nox answered shaking his head. "But that's neither here nor there. Your turn now, ask me any question you wish."

This time, Nyra took a moment before asking, "Do you…Do you have a family back in your homeland?"

"Had," Nox replied, fighting against the ache in his chest as a face came to mind. A woman with orange skin and white markings that meant everything to him.

Nyra seemed almost taken aback by his one-word answer, but she caught onto the reasoning by his simplistic answer quickly enough. "I – I apologize, my Lord. I…I know that losing a loved one is painful. My own parents passed during the previous winter. And my older brother…He followed the Starks south during the Rebellion and never came home."

"My condolences, Nyra." Nox replied almost automatically. But what surprised him was the fact that he meant it. He was used to death and had become almost numb to it. As a Sith you had to be in order to survive. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd offered the sentiment at another's passing and meant it. "I believe it is my turn again. You've spoken of Lord Stark and his boys. But tell me, what do you think of Lady Stark?"

Again, Nox sent a gentle Force nudge in her direction. Only this time he applied a slight bit more pressure than he had before. She'd stopped herself from revealing something she didn't want to last time despite his persuasion, and he wasn't about to let that happen again. _'Her presence in the Force is nothing extraordinary, no more so than any other person in the galaxy who isn't a Sith or Jedi. Perhaps living in __this__ fortress that was built using the Force, not __to__ mention that tree which acts a focal point, has given her some sort of mental defenses that she otherwise wouldn't __have?__ Another thing I'll have to look into later_.'

As if to add credence to his theory, Nyra visibly struggled for a moment before answering him. "Lady Stark is…of the South. And she has made no attempt at conforming to the ways of the North. Instead, she expects us to conform to her! Lord Stark had a Sept built for her…a _sept!_ In the heart of the North! Had it been ordered by anyone other than the Warden himself, people would've outright refused the request. Even the Manderly's, who worship both the old gods and the new, have never tried to build septs further into the North than White Harbor. She even went so far as to strongly suggest that _all_ the serving staff begin worshiping the Seven if they wanted to truly please her! And her daughters…so beautiful. True daughters of the North… She won't allow for a proper northern lady to teach them. Instead she's insisted on a Septa to teach them. Ha! How is a Septa supposed to teach the she-wolves of the North? Then there is the way that she treats Lord Stark's bastard son. She goes on and on about her House words of Family, Duty, and Honor. And yet she… Oh gods… Please…don't tell Lady Stark I said any of this! I beg you!"

Her tirade was cut off so abruptly that Nox hadn't even realized she'd ended it until she was on her knees before him, almost in tears and clutching onto the hem of his robes. _'Well…shit. Guess I pushed it a little too far_.' "Enough of that," Nox said firmly but not unkindly as he held out his hand for Nyra to help her stand. "I told you what is said between us stays between us. And I am a man of my word."

The relief was evident on Nyra's face as she sagged slightly. "Thank you, milord."

"Think nothing of it. I asked a question and you answered truthfully, for which I am grateful." _'But her response is quite telling. Apparently, the Lady of Winterfell rules this castle with an iron fist and isn't afraid of going behind her __husband's__ back on some issues. And she's also highly religious by the sounds of it…I'm going to have to study the __Faith__ of the __Seven__ more. She might prove to be more problematic than I originally thought_.'

Pushing himself away from the desk, Nox rose to his feet, cracking his back in several places as he did. "It is a beautiful day out today, isn't it, Nyra?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Umm, yes. It is, my Lord. For an autumn year, it is unusually warm out today," Nyra replied, her voice still lacking the confidence it'd held before her outburst.

"Well, it seems a shame to waste such a day," Nox commented as he faced her. "So, why don't you show me around Winterfell?"

Taken aback, Nyra stuttered as she looked around. "Umm, I'm not sure if that…if I have time to…"

"Nyra," Nox said firmly. "I thought that we agreed not to lie to one another. You were sent to watch over me and what better way to keep an eye on me than by giving me a guided tour of Winterfell?"

The young woman still seemed hesitant, but in the end she nodded. "As you wish, milord."

"Splendid," Nox smiled, offering his arm to Nyra, who hesitated only for a moment before taking it. "So, tell me, is there anything of interest happening around the castle today?"

Nyra thought for a moment before nodded. "Yes. The young Lord Robb and young Jon Snow are supposed to be training in the yard today. They train every other day."

"Is that so?" Nox smiled, an idea forming in his mind about how to integrate himself into the citizens of Winterfell and specifically the future heir and his bastard brother. "Well, this should be quite a show indeed."

* * *

Deep within the crypts of Winterfell, Ned Stark stood silently before the three statues marking the graves of his family. To his far left stood the silently staring form of his father while next to him was the statue of his elder brother. A sword laid out across their laps as tradition for the Starks since the time of Bran the Builder. Even if their bones were never recovered, Ned still had had their statues created to honor his family. But it was not his father nor his brother that he came to see. No. As usual the reason he wandered down into the crypts this day was to stand before her statue.

His sister, Lyanna Stark, the 'She-Wolf'. Or as only a few knew her; The Knight of the Laughing Tree…or the Second Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

As it so often did, Ned's mind aimlessly wandered back to eight years ago at the Tourney or Harrenhal. He remembered vividly being so excited about the tournament. He'd be able to see his family again after years of separation. But more importantly, he would be able to formally introduce his friend Robert to his sister. But that excitement was dampened slightly by his friend's actions. Ned loved Robert as a brother, he truly did. But the one aspect that was a strain on their friendship was his constant bedding of anything and everything with two legs, a pair of tits and a cunt. He could still recall the day Jon Arryn had arrived with the news that the betrothal between Robert and Lyanna had been agreed upon. They'd both been happy and proud, Robert even called him his soon-to-be-true-brother. But then Ned's excitement lessened as Robert proceeded to celebrate by taking Ned to a brothel and purchasing two whores for himself before telling Ned to enjoy himself as well.

That was the day that the small grain of doubt wedged its way into Ned's mind. He couldn't believe the audacity of his friend. He'd just been told that he was betrothed, and the first thing he did was get two whores and offer a third to his soon-to-be goodbrother. It was…It went against everything Jon Arryn had taught them over the years about responsibility. Then the second grain of doubt entered his mind just after the announcement of the Tourney at Harrenhal and Ned discovered that Robert already had a bastard daughter in the Vale. That she was nearly a year old! And if the fact that he had a bastard wasn't bad enough, Robert was completely uninterested in her at all!

But despite what he'd seen, he kept his doubts ruthlessly pinned down. Robert would change after he married his sister. Ned was sure of it. But then the Tourney happened. Robert, after meeting Lyanna for the first time ever, proceeded to spend the entirety of the tournament in the company of whores when he wasn't participating in the events or trying to court Lyanna. Then Rhaegar won the Tourney and crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. And then all the smiles died. And a year later the Rebellion began when Lyanna was taken and Ned's brother and father were executed by the Mad King. Robert, Ned and Jon raised their banners and brought down the Mad King and Rhaegar. And in return…Ned lost the one thing he truly and only wanted in life. Her. His desert sun.

'_But you were never abducted,_' Ned thought ruefully, almost glaring up at his sister's statue and despising himself for the anger he felt towards his sister. '_You went with __Rhaegar__ willingly. To be his second queen. But why…why did you not contact us? Why did Rhaegar not? I know that I was not the best brother to you when you needed it. But could you not tell us of your plans? Especially when said plans had the potential to alienate two of the Great Houses of Westeros?_'

Shaking his head with a tired sigh, Ned banished thoughts of the past. '_The past is the past and the ink is dry. I cannot change what happened as much as I cannot stop the sun from rising on the morrow_.' Pausing, he pulled out a single blue rose that he'd taken from the glass gardens and placed in at the feet of his sister's statue. '_My carelessness nearly cost me my last tie to __you,__ sister. But what am I __to__ do? I cannot proclaim to the world that Jon is not a bastard and reveal his true name. Robert, friend or not, would seek Jon's death. And I cannot dishonor my wife any more by giving Jon the Stark name. __Please,__ Lyanna…tell me. What am I to do?_'

Ned wasn't sure why he even bothered to ask anymore. His sister was long gone, and the old gods of the North did not provide direction or answers like so many Andals believed that the Seven could. '_I know that you can't tell me what to __do,__ Lyanna, but I hope that you know that I'm doing my best to keep my promise. I'm keeping him safe_.' Placing his hand against the cold stone of his sister's memorial, Ned spared his brother and father a last parting glance before making his way out of the crypts.

Coming out of the crypts, Ned cocked his head to the side as the sound of cheering reached him. Following the noise, he soon found the source as it seemed that nearly a quarter of Winterfell had descended upon the training grounds. '_Now what is going on here?_' he thought to himself as he quietly made his way towards the crowd. '_Robb and Jon should be training today. And while it is not unusual for the Lord or his Heir to garner a crowd while they train, it should not warrant this much attention_.'

Moving carefully through the crowd, Ned was more than slightly surprised at what had drawn their attention. It wasn't his son nor Jon that'd called for their attention. No, his boys were both standing side by side on the outskirts of the training ring with Ser Rodrik as they both cheered for what happening before them. Nearly two dozen of Winterfell guards were littered across the training grounds. Most were nursing bruises or in other cases a cut here or there associated with an intense sparing match. Even Jory Cassel, his captain of the guard, was down on one knee, gasping for breath while he leaned heavily on his tourney blade.

And standing amid the carnage was the newest addition to Winterfell, Alim Nox. Unlike the guards of Winterfell, who were all scattered, wounded and exhausted, the foreigner appeared barely winded as he stood calmly in the center of the ring with his tourney blade lazily relaxing across his shoulder and the only sign of obvious exertion on him was the light sheen of sweat across his brow. "Come now, Jory," Nox sighed, as Jory struggled to rise to his feet and bring his sword up. "This is almost getting tedious by this point. Why don't we just call it and end this charade?"

Rising shakily to his feet, Jory brought his tourney blade up into a mid-guard and set his feet. But even from the distance he was at, Ned could see that Jory was struggling to even keep hold of the blade let alone to attack. "I will never back down!"

Sighing, Nox raised his blade off his shoulder and settled into a stance Ned had never encountered before. His feet were spread wide and his body turned slight with his left hand and arm extended straight out while he held his blade above his head in his right hand so that it was almost perpendicular to his arm. "Very well then. Let us end this then."

With a cry, Jory lunged for Nox, his form perfect and his blade steady as it traveled the distance aiming to pierce Nox in the chest. But at the last second Nox moved, his blade slicing down and altering the direction of the lunge to pass him by. Jory tried to pull up, but he was committed, and his momentum wouldn't allow him to go any other direction than forward. And as he passed Nox by, the foreigner slashed back up. Striking Jory unimpeded into his chest. The force of the strike, combined with his Captain's forward movement, lifted Jory clear off his feet and brought him down onto the ground hard flat on his back. And before he could even make a move to recover, Nox had brought his tourney blade back down so that the tip was now pointed directly at Jory's exposed throat.

"I…yield."

Pulling his sword away, Nox held out his hand for Jory while around the yard the men and women of Winterfell either cheered or groaned as more than a few pulled out a few coins and passed them to people around them. But before Ned could make his presence known, Nox turned directly towards him and inclined his head before announcing his presence in a loud and clear voice, "Lord Stark."

All noise in the courtyard died as everyone turned towards him. Holding his head up, he steadily made his way towards the ring, taking note of the guilty look in the eyes of his guards and especially in the eyes of Jory. '_Regardless of what caused this little spar, all of them have just been defeated by a foreigner. A foreigner that they outnumbered by a large margin. And in front of their liege lord no less_.'

"Nox," Ned greeted the man, still unsure of just how to address him properly. He was obviously a highborn given his manner of speech and dress, but he'd yet to give himself a title. Only Jon had done that. "May I ask what brought this about?"

Nox merely shrugged. "Just a minor dispute on the viability of different training methods and what can be introduced to increase the combat effectiveness of your men, my Lord."

Looking around again, Ned took careful note of all his beaten and bruised men. They were his best. And they had all just been humiliated by a man who didn't even look like he'd exerted himself at all in taking them down. Deep within him, he could feel wolfsbood blood he constantly kept him check come to life. His man, this stranger, came into his home and embarrassed his best without hardly breaking a sweat. He could not let this stand.

"I see." Ned said simply, reaching up and unsnapping the clasps that held his overcoat in place and removing it from his shoulders.

The entire courtyard began muttering again as he made his way over towards Robb and Jon. Handing his cloak off to his son, he took the tourney blade that Jory offered him and made his way to the center of the training yard while giving the blade a few almost lazy swipes through the air to get used to the weight. While he did, he could feel the wolf within him starting to stalk back and forth as it always did before Ned fought. '_No,_' he thought back, forcing the wolf within him back down as the lessons taught to him by Jon Arryn came to the forefront of his mind. '_I must be calm. Collected. I cannot let the wolfsblood control me_.'

He could almost feel the wolf within howl in agony as he forced the beast back into its cage. Now was not the time. He had to focus. Be calm. It was the wolfsblood that got him into this situation before he could even realize it. He would not allow the same wolfsblood that cause his sister's and brother's deaths to cause any more trouble here today.

Across from him, Nox tilted his head slightly to the side, his covered eyes staring at him without looking almost as if he knew the conflict raging within Ned. "Interesting." Nox commented before resuming the same stance he had against Jory, feet widespread, sword held in the air and left hand extended. "Let us see what you can do, Lord Stark."

Sliding his front foot forward, Ned made an exploratory thrust at Nox. His opponent immediately countered with the same move he'd used against Jory just a moment ago, bringing his blade down to redirect his thrust before countering with a reverse slash aimed for Ned's chest. But unlike Jory, Ned was ready and moved his body to side enough to evade the slash and counterattack. His attack met nothing but air as Nox skillfully sidestepped his attack and reset himself just out of range of Ned's reach.

For the next few minutes, Ned continued to make probes at Nox, trying to find some sort of weakness or flaw in his technique, yet he found none. The man's defense was perfect. His stance, while strange, positioned Nox to deflect and counter everything Ned threw at him. And his footwork was beyond excellent as he deftly moved around Ned while they fought. Yet for all his defense and evasion, Nox had yet to launch a single attack against him.

The wolf within him was howling in rage, struggling against the binds Ned had placed on it as it stalked back and forth, begging to be let lose. '_No_.' Ned thought viciously. '_I let you lose once before! And I lost my head and it cost a life! It made her turn from me…I can't let you out again!_'

Deflecting yet another of Ned's attacks, Nox planted his foot clearly in Ned's gut, forcing the wind from his lungs and making him take a step back to avoid his follow up attack. An attack that never came as Nox just stood there, his sword lowered, and his guard gone. "You can't win like this, Lord Stark."

Coughing and catching his breath, Ned righted himself and brought up his guard. "What do you mean?"

He could almost see the eye roll behind the man's covered eyes and for a moment, he was back as a boy in the Eyre being tutored by Jon Arryn and his Master at Arms. "You can't fight us both and hope to win, Lord Stark."

Ned was brought up short by the comment. '_He…__He__ can't know…can he?_'

"The wolf, Lord Stark." Nox continued, confirming that, somehow, he did in fact know about his inner struggle. "The wolf, if you want to call it that, wants to be let free, Lord Stark. It's part of you. Call it your instinct if you will. You cannot fight me while trying to keep a reign on the wolf at the same time. And if you want any hope of besting me, then you will need the wolf." Swinging his sword around almost lazily, Nox resumed his stance. Only to change it a moment later as he held onto the blade with two hands while bringing the hilt to his back shoulder with the blade pointed at the sky. "And if you won't let go willingly, then I will force it out of you!"

The next instant, it was as if Ned was fighting a completely different opponent as Nox dropped all defense and went on the offensive. His blade was little more than a blur as Nox swung the blade almost wildly, his body twisting and turning as it went with the momentum of his blade. And it was all Ned could do to keep his guard up against the seemingly unending onslaught of attacks that Nox was raining down on him.

Eventually Ned could no long keep up with the onslaught and one of Nox's swings caught Ned clear in the gut, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to his knees as he coughed, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Holding his hand out, Ned stopped the servants and his guards from rushing to him, as he no doubt knew that they were.

Raising a hand to his mouth, Ned wiped at the blood forming on his lips and looked down at his own hand in wonder as he stared down at blood, his blood, that coated his hand. Within him, the wolf howled in anger and for once, Ned did nothing to stop it as he slowly rose to his feet. He'd been humiliated in his own home. Bested by a man he didn't know. A man who knew nothing of the North. A man who knew nothing of winter. Who knew nothing of House Stark and the wolfsblood. Yet who dared to say that Ned stood no chance against him. Deep within the cage he kept it in, the wolf howled again, this time in freedom as Ned let go and unleashed the wolf within. '_He wants to see the wolf_.' Ned thought as he spat a wad of blood out of his mouth and reaffirmed his hold on his tourney blade. A smile coming to his lips as he reveled in the fight to come as the wolfsblood took hold. '_Then that is what he'll get!_'

Rushing forward, Ned met Nox's attack with one of his own. Their blades locking for the briefest of moments before separating as the two began dancing around one another, their blades striking one another with the strength of a blacksmiths hammer on an anvil. As it did back when he fought Arthur Dayne, time seemed to almost slow as Ned seemed to know exactly where and when Nox would attack and where and when he would be open. But unlike his fight years ago, when he last let the wolf be free, this time not only did Nox keep pace with him, but he almost seemed to be…pushing him. Whenever Ned would match Nox blow for blow, the man almost seemed to speed up slightly, forcing Ned to call on the wolfsblood more and more as he fought harder than ever before to keep pace with the foreigner.

Everything around the two of them disappeared into nothingness, leaving only Ned and Nox as he focused in on his opponent while the wolf within him continue guiding him, letting him match Nox blow for blow. As Nox changed from one move to the next, he saw it. A slight opening when he turned to his left. Waiting like the patient wolf he was, Ned lunged for the opening the moment he saw it once more.

But Nox defied all laws of logic as his body bent backwards until his head nearly touched the ground behind him in order to avoid his attack. And then he twisted, his body never leaving its angle as he twirled around and behind Ned. Pain exploded through his legs as his knees collapsed as Nox's blade struck him in the back of the leg. Before his knees could hit the ground, Nox's hand was on his shoulder and the tip of the tourney blade was pointed at his throat.

"Well done, Lord Stark," Nox stated, his breath coming and going in rapid pants. "Well done indeed."

Blinking, Ned felt the rush of the wolfsblood leave him, leaving him lightheaded enough that he would've fallen forward if not for Nox holding him steady. "You as well, Master Nox." Ned wasn't sure if 'Master' was the correct term to call Nox or not. But he was without a doubt a master with a blade, so the term seemed adequate for now.

Doing his best to hide just how much he was relying on Nox to steady him, Ned rose shakily to his feet. Taking a deep breath of the cold northern air, it was all Ned could do to remain standing as he turned towards Nox. "Your training is, indeed, most impressive," Ned conceded. "If you are willing to train the men of Winterfell, I will be grateful for your aid."

Nox merely nodded, no sign of bravado nor superiority showing on his face. "I will have a training regime drawn up and delivered to you by the end of the week, Lord Stark."

"Good," Ned nodded, turning away from Nox and facing the crowd.

It seemed as if the crowd surrounding them had grown to the point where everyone in Winterfell had watched the duel. Even his wife Cat and his young daughters, Sansa and Arya, were in attendance. And everyone was staring at Ned and Nox in complete silence. Cat was looking at him like he'd grown two heads, and Sansa and Arya were staring at him in the much the same manner. Jon and Robb however, they were both staring at the two of them with open mouths and shocked expressions on their faces. Blinking, Ned turned around slowly to survey crowd. Just about every face was a mirror of Cat or his children's. '_Hells…__When__ did everyone get here? How long were we sparing for? And…why are they looking at us like we are two of the old gods come back to life?_'

"Alright," Ser Rodrik called out, saving Ned from having to say anything as he stood awkwardly before the assembled crowd. "You all have duties you need to see too! Now clear out!"

Everyone in the yard immediately began to disperse save for Cat and his children. Robb was the first to speak up, running up to him with a large grin on his face as he nearly bounced with excitement. "That was…That was amazing, father! Is that what your fight with Arthur Dayne was like?! Was Nox tougher than Ser Dayne? How did you move so fast? Did it hurt when—"

"Robb, give your father some space," Cat cut in sharply, reprimanding their son who backed down under his mother's gaze. "Husband, are you alright? That…man seemed to have landed a few hard blows."

Given her tone, he could tell that she wasn't pleased by that. Not by the fact that Ned was bested, but more by the fact that Nox dared strike him. "Aye, he did land a few good ones." Ned acknowledged, rolling his shoulders and his knee slightly to try and lessen some of the pain in them. "But it was as expected. I would've been insulted if he'd held back against me. A few bruises are the cost of training in the yard. And a lesson for the future. Remember that boys."

"Yes, father."

"Yes, fa – Lord Stark."

Ned didn't miss the way that Jon quickly corrected himself, nor did he miss the slight twitch in Cat's eye at Jon's correction. "Good." Ned nodded. "Now, off with you lot. You all have your evening lessons before dinner. I expect to hear good things from the Maester and Septa on your progress tonight."

Biding his children and wife goodbye, after taking a moment to reassure Cat that he was in fact fine, Ned made his way back to the yard, searching out Ser Rodrik. He quickly found the man talking with his nephew near the weapons rack. The two were talking in harsh, whispered tones with the younger of the two frequently motioning with his arms in a manner that suggested he was trying to figure out some of the techniques and moves that Nox had used during the spar.

"Ser Rodrik, Jory."

"My Lord," both men bowed, cutting off their conversation as he made his presence known to them.

Hanging up his tourney blade, Ned faced the two men he trusted more than any other when it came to martial prowess here in Winterfell. "Tell me what you think of Nox."

The two men looked at one another, seemingly unsure of just how to answer him. "My Lord, his skill is undeniable," Ser Rodrik replied cautiously. "But there is something…off about him, my Lord."

"When he started sparing against myself and our men, my Lord," Jory continued, "I…I could've sworn for a moment I felt…cold. As if the Stranger of the Seven had descended upon us and taken form in that man. It lasted only a moment, but for that moment I honestly felt like I was going to die just from standing before him."

"And then there was his fight with you, my Lord." Ser Rodrik continued slowly. This time taking his time as if he were measuring each word before speaking. "Forgive me for asking, my Lord but…have you been holding back when you train with our men?"

That brought Ned up short. "No." He answered simply. He didn't believe in holding back when it came to training. You did yourself and your sparring partner no good if you held back.

Shifting his weight, Ser Rodrik looked more than slightly uncomfortable as he continued. "I didn't mean to give offense, my Lord. But that man took on over a dozen of our best and bested them while hardly breaking a sweat. And then you were able to keep pace with him. A pace that, quite simply, my Lord, was unbelievable. You two were moving so fast that I could hardly track your blades. And…and there was one more thing, my Lord. I don't believe anyone else saw but myself and Jory…but we both saw what we saw and…"

"And what?" Ned pressed, growing slightly agitated at the hesitation in his Master at Arms as the wolf within him was still prowling, angry at its recent defeat.

"Your eyes, my Lord." Jory picked up for Rodrik. "Your eyes were yellow. Like a wolf."

The wolf within Ned quieted as shock swept through Ned. '_My eyes…changed color? Ridiculous_.' Yet as he stared at Ser Rodrik and Jory, there was no lie in their eyes. They meant what they said. And he trusted them. "The wolfsblood," he muttered, turning and staring off in the direction that Nox had departed in.

"Sorry, my Lord?"

"The wolfsblood, Ser Rodrik." Ned repeated, turning back to the two men. "Nox, he said something during our spar to me. That I needed to stop holding the wolf in. That I needed to let it out otherwise I would have no hope of defeating him."

The two men blinked and looked even more uneasy. "My Lord," Ser Rodrik said slowly. "You…Neither you nor Nox uttered a single word during your spar, my Lord. You both kept quiet and focused on one another. And that was it."

Hours later when the sun had sunk well below the horizon, Ned found himself in his solar indulging in a horn of ale. He wasn't necessarily one for drinking. But tonight, after his fight with Nox and the subsequent conversation with Jory and Ser Rodrik, he felt that it was more than warranted and needed. '_My eyes turned yellow like a wolf. And Nox and I talked without talking. How…__How__ could such things happen without my noticing?_'

Taking another drink from the horn, Ned settled deeper into his chair as he stared into the fire burning in the hearth before him. The wolf within him seemed almost…content now. It was no longer pacing nor howling. It was at peace. Perhaps because Ned had done as Nox had suggested? He'd set the wolf free from the cage he'd built around it during the spar. And afterwards, he'd simply forgot to put it back. But now…now he almost didn't want to put it back. What he felt during the spar was…turbulent. Anger, fear, excitement. All surged through him in a rush giving him strength and speed he didn't know he possessed. And afterwards when the wolf had quieted, he'd found a peace he hadn't known since before he'd been sent to foster at the Eyrie.

"Come in, Vayon," Ned called out without looking over his shoulder.

The door to his chamber opened and he heard his steward shuffle in. "My lord, um, forgive me but…how did you know I had arrived."

Ned was about to answer that he'd heard his knock, but then stopped himself. He hadn't heard a knock. There'd been no knock. He'd simply known that Vayon was outside his solar. "I was expecting you." Ned lied, finishing off the last of his ale and rising to face his steward. "Has Nox completed the training regime?"

Vayon recovered quickly from his shock and nodded, handing Ned a roll of parchment. "Aye, my Lord. He's written up quite the regime. While I am no expert in the field, my lord, I worry just how many of our men would be able to complete such training."

Unrolling the scroll, Ned's eyes widened as he kept unrolling more and more. When the length of the scroll had surpassed the length of his arm with still more to go, Ned stopped and rolled it back up. "Give this to Jory and Ser Rodrik." Ned commented, handing it back to Vayon. "They will have to change some of the suggestions. But if this training can produce warriors even half of the caliber of Nox, then few will dare to challenge the North again."

"I agree, my Lord," Vayon nodded, taking the scroll back before handing Ned another. "This is a list of supplies that…Nox wrote up. He says that he needs what's written on here in the quantities written or greater to begin several projects that will benefit Winterfell and the North."

Taking the scroll, Ned unrolled it and began reading. '_Clay. Bone ash. Limestone. Straw. Coal. Mortar. Fine grain sand. Dozens of other building materials but nothing expensive. But the quantities that he's requesting will take more than sometime to collect_.' "And has he mentioned what projects specifically he needs these for?"

"No, my lord." Vayon responded by shaking his head. "But I did not ask either."

"I see," Ned replied, rolling up the scroll and setting it back down on his desk. Turning his back on Vayon, he faced the fire once more. "Tell Nox I wish to speak with him at first light in the godswood before the heart tree. I will ask what his plans for these materials are. And if I deem them worthy cause, then you will see to having them delivered."

"Very well, my Lord," Vayon bowed. "Will there be anything else, my Lord?"

"No," Ned replied, resuming his seat before the fire. "You are dismissed for the night."

"Thank you, my Lord."

Hearing the door to his solar shut, Ned closed his eyes and tried to find the wolf within him again. He found it easily. Relaxed and at peace. Which brought Ned no small amount of peace as well. Conjuring up the cage he'd kept the wolf in for years, he was about to put it back but then hesitated. Why did he need to cage the wolf? Jon Arryn had known of the Stark's wolfsblood when he'd arrived, and he'd always stressed that Ned couldn't let it control him. That he needed to keep the wolf contained at all times. Yet…letting the wolf out had allowed him to go strike for strike with both Arthur Dayne and now Alim Nox. And he felt…at peace with the wolf released. So, why should he cage the wolf again? But at the same time, it was the wolfsblood that convinced Lyanna to run off like she did and subsequently start a war. It was the wolfsblood that caused his brother to run down to King's Landing and call out the Mad King and his son and demand justice against them. Little good came from the wolfsblood.

Within him, he could almost see the wolf perk up, its eyes staring at the mental cage Ned had made for it. As the minutes ticked by, the wolf did nothing but stare at him and the cage, waiting for Ned to make his move. '_No_,' Ned thought, dissolving the cage within his mind, which almost seemed to make the wolf happier as it resumed its rest. '_I will not let fear rule me_.'

* * *

Waking the next morning, Nox slowly extracted himself from the warmth of his bed. The cold northern air kissed his naked flesh as he rose. While this land was not the coldest that he'd ever been in, that was and would always be Hoth, it was still slightly colder than what he was typically used too. But despite the chill, he had slept completely naked. That was a habit he'd picked up after spending more than a few nights with his light, and they'd even occasionally ended up literally destroying each other's clothes by morning. And thus, he couldn't sleep well while wearing clothes.

'_Okay, I really need to rethink my priorities on how to advance this world_,' Nox thought with a frown as he bent backwards and cracked his back in several places at once, relieving the stress that'd built there. '_A proper mattress is now high on my list of things I need to teach this world_.'

After completing his morning exercises, he made his way over to the small desk and picked up his clothes. '_I'm going to need new clothes soon __too,_' he thought, staring down at his Sith robes. After days of wearing them, their stench was staring to become most noticeable. He'd just finished putting on his pants when he felt the presence of the serving girl Nyra just outside of his door. "No need to knock, Nyra. You are free to come in."

"Milord, I brought you a change of – oh my! I…Forgive me!"

Smiling, Nox could almost hear the young woman's thoughts as he focused in on her. Her back was firmly turned towards him, but he could feel the embarrassment and…more than slight desire that was coming from her. Deciding to have a little fun with the innocent young woman, Nox didn't bother to finish getting dressed. "There is no need to be shy, Nyra. I'm not. Unless you believe that I have something to be ashamed about?"

"No!" Nyra nearly shouted. The wave of desire within her thickening as her determination rose and she turned back towards him. "Umm, like I was saying I – by the old gods! What…What happened to you, milord?"

There was no need to ask what she'd meant. His chest, back and arms were covered with dozens of scars due his time as both a slave and a Sith. "Ah, yes," Nox nodded as he could feel the woman's desire dim. "Mementos of my past life. My life has not been easy. I would say that you should see the other guys, but they're all dead now."

The young woman didn't say anything as her eyes roamed over the dozens of scars adorning his chest before becoming locked on one. The one that should've ended his life. Nox didn't stop her as she took a tentative step forward, her hand rising seemingly of its own accord. He stood still as she reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the scar just to the right of his heart where Thanaton's lightsaber had pierced his chest after their first meeting. "By the gods…How are you still alive?"

Her touch, her voice, the look in her eye. They were the same as _hers_ when she'd first seen it. Ashara. His light. His love. The one who'd been taken from him by the infighting of the Sith. Almost involuntarily, he stepped back away from her touch. His own playfulness gone as the painful reminder that his light was gone brought him back to reality. "Sheer luck, or the will of the gods, if you will." Nox responded far more coldly than he'd intended. "It doesn't matter now. It is in the past. And the one who did this is dead. Killed by my hand."

Nyra seemed frozen to her spot, her hand still raised with her fingers extended. After a moment, she shook herself and took a step back, her eyes widened with a slight fear. "Forgive me, milord. That was…That was far too forward of me."

Again, her thoughts were as clear as day to him. She was afraid that he would mention this moment to the head maid and then it would get back to Lady Stark. And if that happened, then the Lady of Winterfell would throw her out of the castle on her ear with nothing but the clothes on her back. "There is nothing to forgive. And what happened here will not be spoken off." Nox said, her fears lessening with his assurance. "And the fault is mostly mine. The last woman to touch me there…"

Recognition dawned in Nyra's eyes. "The woman that you…?"

"Yes," Nox answered not unkindly.

"I – I'm sorry, milord." Nyra responded, her voice laced with sorrow. "You must have cared for her greatly."

"I did," Nox replied, walking towards Nyra, who froze in place as he approached her. The hammering of her heart easy for his enhanced hearing to pick up as her breath quickened. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman. But as much as his body craved the warmth of a woman in his bed again, his heart was not ready. Not yet. The wounds Ashara's death left on him were still too fresh. So, instead of taking the young girl as his body yearned to do, he merely took the clothes she'd brought with her and turned his back on her. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes," Nyra breathed, trying her best to compose herself before him. "Lord Stark wishes to speak with you in the godswood when you are ready."

"I see," Nox nodded. He'd expected this. The awakening of Lord Stark's Force sensitivity had no doubt been a shock to the Lord and he was sure that the man had more than a few questions for him. Setting the clothes aside, he reached for the top of his pants before stopping and turning back to Nyra, "Well, my dear, unless you want more of a show, I suggest you take your leave. But if you do want a show, then I think it'd only be fair to show me yours as well."

Her face went red as she quickly backpaddled her way out of his room. "No! I mean, ummm, yes, I mean… Good day, milord," she stuttered before making a hasty retreat out the door, almost slamming it shut on her way out.

Chuckling to himself, Nox went about the task of undressing himself and redressing in the clothes that'd been provided for him. As he pulled on the rough woolen and leather clothes, Nox's mind inevitably went back to what'd just transpired, and what had _almost_ transpired. The serving girl was attractive, there was certainly no denying that. And she was obviously responding well to him. The Sith within him was yelling and screaming at him to take her and take his pleasure that he wanted. But a stronger part of him, the part that laid within the light, the part that allowed him to love Ashara held him back. It'd barely been a year since his light was taken from him. And while his body was more than willing, as evidence by how difficult he currently found it to undress, his mind and soul just wasn't ready to move past Ashara. Not yet.

Once he'd finished dressing, he made his way out of the guest quarters and towards the 'godswood' as the locals seemed to call the miniature forest they kept within the confines of the castle. '_Has to be of religious importance_,' Nox thought as he passed by the two guards standing vigil near the entrance to the godswood. '_The books I found stated that the Northmen believe in the 'old gods'. Spirits that can see through the faces that'd been carved into the weirwood trees. Yet these gods have no names. And given that the weirwoods act as focal points for the Force, it can easily be assumed that the early first men mistook the 'old gods' for the Force itself. Entirely possible. And something to dig into when I have more time to conduct proper research into this __world's__ history._'

Walking into the center clearing in the godswood, Nox caught sight of the Lord of Winterfell sitting on a large stone placed before the weirwood tree, his somber grey eyes focused unseeingly on the reflective pool before him. Strangely enough, the tree didn't seem as _vibrant_ in the Force today as it did the day prior. In fact, the presence of the Force was almost muted completely. Much like when he'd first arrived. '_Curious, the tree was almost burst with the Force when I first stepped foot into the __godswood. But__ now…now it is so muted that only those highly adept in sensing the Force could recognize it. Most peculiar. And one more thing to look into later_.' "A heavy expression for so early in the day, Lord Stark."

"Nox," Lord Stark responded, his eyes not leaving the reflective pool. "I knew you were there before you even spoke. Even though you approached without a sound, I still knew you were there. Sights. Sounds. Tastes. Textures. Everything is…more intense. As if I'd been living my life in a fog until today." Pausing, the Stark tore his eyes off the reflective pool and met Nox's covered eyes. "I asked you here today for answers. I do not know if you believe in the old gods or not, but it is that that when in the presence of the old gods through the weirwood, one must tell the truth or be cursed by the gods themselves. So, in presence of my gods I ask you Nox, what did you do to me yesterday during our spar?"

'_Fairly __blunt,_' Nox thought, somewhat amused as he held his hands behind his back and began to calmly and slowly walk around the reflective pool towards the Warden of the North. "I did nothing, Lord Stark. I merely encouraged you to open the cage, as it were. You were the one who did so. And from what I can sense, you haven't closed it off again either. But before we travel down this path any further, Lord Stark, let me ask you a question if you will. Do you know what it was that you had locked away within you?"

Ned turned pensive as he went back to gazing upon the reflective pool. "My family calls it the wolfsblood. It…It isn't well defined. But it's been associated with my family since the time of Bran the Builder. It was said the Bran used the wolfsblood to help design and create the Wall and Winterfell. It was said that it was the wolfsblood that helped the Starks to defeat all the other kings of winter and unite the North. And some even say that it was the wolfsblood that made Torrhen Stark kneel to Aegon the Conqueror."

"It's as good a place to start as any," Nox nodded. "The wolfsblood as you know it is a metaphor for something far greater. The Force."

Blinking, Lord Stark brought his attention back to Nox. "The Force? What is that?"

"Everything and nothing." Nox replied, as he started to pace back and forth in between Lord Stark and the reflective pool. "The Force is the alpha and the omega. The beginning and the end. It surrounds us, binds us, drives us. Everyone is affected by the Force, whether they know it or not. But those who are strong enough in the Force can use it and bend it to their will. I suppose, to put it simply, the Force is magic. Although that is a great under simplification of what the Force truly is. One could spend their whole life looking to understand the Force. And at the end of their life, they would've only begun to scratch the surface of the mystery that is the Force."

Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, the Lord of Winterfell gave Nox his undivided attention. "What can you do with this…Force? Is it possible for anyone to learn?"

Unfolding his hands from behind his back, Nox raised his right hand and reached out with the Force. On his command, several of the smaller rocks, no larger than a man's head, began to rise and circle around Nox and Lord Stark. The Lord of Winterfell watched with wide eyes as Nox guided the dozen or so rocks in between the two of them and began to stack them on top of each other. "Only those who are Force-sensitive can utilize the Force. Lifting rocks is merely the beginning and a good exercise for those who are learning," he explained. "But, as I said, lifting rocks is merely the _beginning_. You yourself used a typical Force technique the yesterday that all Force adepts learn: Force precognition. In short, the Force was allowing you to see glimpses of what was to come. That was how you knew when and where I was going to attack and how to counter it. And you've also been using another technique where you reach out through the Force to know your surroundings without seeing or hearing them. That is how you knew that I was approaching. As of now, you are using these abilities involuntarily and without focus. In time, you can hone these abilities to better utilize and control them."

"Unfortunately for you, while it is possible for you to learn some abilities, it is far too late for you to begin formal training. You're too old. Your mind is too set. Perhaps if you were younger or if you hadn't denied your connection with the Force for so long, it would be possible to fully train you. But now it is too late. Formal training must begin during the early years of a Force adept's life while their mind is still malleable. The longer one waits to begin the training, the harder it is to train their mind to do what must be done to utilize the Force."

The Lord of Winterfell appeared pensive as he kept his attention firmly on Nox. "But there are those who can learn here in Winterfell, is there not?"

"You catch on fast," Nox nodded. "Your children, and Jon, they are _all_ Force sensitive. Jon is the most powerful, but there is no doubt that _all_ of your children can be trained."

The wheels in Lord Stark's head were visibly turning as he sat there before the weirwood tree. Obviously, what Nox could offer was invaluable to him and his House's future. But despite the obvious benefit that the Force could offer, he could see that Stark was still hesitant. "And what does it take to teach someone this…Force?"

Rubbing at his chin, Nox could see clearly what Lord Stark's concerns were based around. Obviously, he could see the benefit, but his children had responsibilities as future Warden and Ladies of the North. They couldn't afford to spend all day everyday learning from Nox. "Learning to use the Force is a lifelong commitment, Lord Stark. But where I came from, those who were Force sensitive also had a heavy hand in the running of the Empire."

Leaning back on the rock, the Warden of the North looked intrigued. "Tell me what these lessons would entail and everything you can about the Force, and of your home. You said that you cannot return and that there is no possibility of those of your home coming to us, but I want to know as much as you can tell me about this…Empire of yours."

Manipulating the Force to arrange the rocks he'd been moving around into a place to sit, Nox sat down in front of Lord Stark. "That will take some time."

"My schedule is clear for the day." Lord Stark countered. "Now, talk."

The rest of the day passed with the two of them sitting in the godswood before the weirwood tree discussing the Force and aspects of the Sith Empire. When answering questions about the Empire, Nox kept his answers as vague as possible while constantly reassuring Lord Stark that there was no way that the Empire would ever grace the shores of the North or Westeros. Besides, he doubted that Lord Stark would truly believe him if he told the truth about the Sith Empire and that they could travel between the stars at will and controlled a fair portion of the known galaxy.

When it came to aspects of the Force, Nox was more forthcoming. Every question Lord Stark asked, Nox answered. He explained the differences between the light and dark sides of the Force. When he sensed the man's apprehension at the title of 'dark side', Nox spent quite a lot of time explaining how while there were a many aspects of the dark side that could be considered 'evil', it was all in the way that the Force was used. After all, a sword could be considered both good and evil pending how it was used. So too was the Force. And by utilizing both aspects of the Force, one could negate the negative aspects of each side to a high degree.

By the time the sun had nearly set, the two men had nearly exhausted almost all the Lord of Winterfell's questions, and now Lord Stark was silent as he sat staring off into the distance. "You've given me a lot to think on, Nox. I cannot say that I am ready to have my children learn this Art… But I am not saying that they will not either."

Nearly growling at the resistance of the man, Nox did his best to keep his anger in check. "Forgive my bluntness, Lord Stark, but that decision may no longer be yours to make."

Lord Stark turned sharply towards him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Explain."

Folding his hands under his chin, Nox met the Lord of the North's grey eyes with his sightless eyes. "Jon and the others are all highly Force sensitive. Perhaps in another life they may have gone their whole lives without doing anything suspicious that couldn't be passed off as dumb luck. But now with my presence and your awakening to the Force, that option is no longer viable. Your children will learn. The Force will come out in them, whether you want it too or not. It will start with small, almost unnoticeable things. But eventually the children will begin to hear the Force calling out to them and they may start to experiment. At which point, if they do not have access to a proper instructor, they could become a hazard to themselves and others around them."

"And you are the only qualified 'instructor' in all of Westeros and Essos I take it?" Lord Stark questioned, or more correctly stated, with a harsh edge.

"Yes," Nox shot back simply. "Take it as you will, Lord Stark. But it was not my intention to come to this land nor to fall into your lap, nor to find that all your children can use the Force. Had I the choice, I would be back in my homeland, far away from here, and you and yours would remain completely oblivious. But I no longer have that choice. The Force brought me here, and now I am stuck here. So, I might as well do what I can while I'm here."

Lord Stark didn't say anything more as he continued to meet Nox's unseeing stare. "I need more time to decide. And I will say no more on the matter until I've reached a decision." Lord Stark declared.

Again, it was all Nox could do to keep his anger in check. '_He doesn't understand fully what I'm offering him and his children. I __need__ to make an example…but how and where?_' "As you wish."

Nodding, Lord Stark rose to his feet, prompting Nox to follow suit. "There is something else I wish to discuss with you. You sent a list of requested building materials to my steward. What are they for?"

'_Good, he took the bait_.' "First, tell me this, Lord Stark. Winter lasts for years here, does it not? If so, then why do you have so few greenhouses? Or glass gardens as you call them."

"Because Myrish glass is expensive. The expenditure to create another such garden would cost most of the revenue of the North." Lord Stark answered. "It is cheaper to buy our crops from overseas or from the south."

"In the short term perhaps, but not the long term," Nox countered. "But that's a topic for another time. You wanted to know what I need those materials for? It's simple. I'm going to give you and the North the means to create glass."

That brought the Lord of Winterfell up short. "You—You know how to make Myrish glass?"

"Myrish glass? No, can't say I do," Nox answered. "But I _do_ know how to make _glass._ Perhaps of even higher quality than what's been used to create those glass gardens of yours."

Lord Stark was silent as he took in just what Nox was offering him and the people of the North. "If you can hold true on your promise, Nox…Then you will have made a friend of the North, and of me. And your place in the North will never be questioned again."

'_Hook. Line. And sinker_.' "Then I shall do my utmost to keep my word."

Nodding, Stark began heading towards the path leading out of the godswood before stopping after only a few steps. "Tell me. You were a…Sith in this Empire you were a part of? Did you have a title?"

Nox couldn't keep the smile off his face. He was beginning to get Stark to his side of things. "Yes. I was part of the Dark Council…Think of it as your Small Council here in Westeros. As such, my position allotted me several other titles: Lord, Darth, Master. Head of the Pyramid of Ancient Knowledge. I held a lot of titles in my tenure."

"Master Nox," The Warden of the North stated, officially granting Nox said title as he turned back towards him. "I will see to it that what you've requested is delivered within a moon's turn. Keep true to your promise and offering, and I will see to it that some of your titles are restored."

"I assure you, my Lord Stark, I intend to keep true on my word," Nox bowed, deferring to the Lord of Winterfell.

Without another word, Lord Stark turned his back on Nox and made his way out of the godswood, leaving Nox alone.

Once he'd felt Lord Stark's presence completely leave the woods, Nox turned his attention to one of the rocks nearby. With barely a thought, the rock floated into the air, and then was pulverized into dust as Nox closed his fist. '_That…was __infuriating,_' Nox growled to himself as he banished the dust of what was once a rock to the air.

Part of him, the Sith part, wanted nothing more than to call Lord Stark back and dominate his mind and turn him to his way of thinking. '_With his Force attunement as it now stands, simple persuasion is out of the question. His mind was strong to begin with. But now with the Force __aiding__ him, persuasion will be next to impossible. I'd have to outright dominate his mind and turn him into little more than a thrall. But such domination would destroy who he is, and what happened would soon become obvious to not only his family, but all of his vassals as well_.'

However, another part, a part that Nox had thought destroyed until he'd met Ashara, was saying something completely different. '_No…__She…She__ wouldn't approve of that_.'

Many in the Sith Empire thought him weak for falling for Ashara. Not only because he'd truly fallen for her, his apprentice, but then there was the bonus of her being neither a human nor a Sith pureblood. But in truth, Nox didn't care what his Sith brethren thought. He'd never felt more powerful than he did after Ashara taught him some of the light and started to thaw his blackened icy heart. And his battle with Revan only confirmed what he thought. True power laid not within the Dark nor the Light side of the Force. But within both.

Turning to the heart tree, Nox let his conscious flow out as he reached through the Force and touched the ancient focal point. '_I'm __trying, Ashara,_' he thought, hoping that his thoughts and feelings would reach his light through the Force. '_I'm trying to change into the man you saw me as. It's hard. You know how hard it is. And living amongst the __Sith__ made it __seem__ impossible. But perhaps…that is why the Force brought me to this place. To start anew. A new order both Sith and Jedi. I wish you were with __me,__ my light. To share in this. I need you __now__…more than ever_.'

The wind picked up in the godswood as the red leaves of the heart tree swayed in the wind. Yet it was only the weirwood that was affected, as none of the other trees nor leaves in the godswood stirred. Tilting his head back, Nox felt the cool air brush against his face. He couldn't hear her voice, nor feel her presence, but he knew that his light was reaching for him through the Force. '_Thank you…my love. We will see one another again. But not yet. Not yet._'

* * *

Standing within the covered bridge that connected the main keep of Winterfell to the armory, Lord Stark stared down at large crowd that'd gathered below. '_One moon_,' Ned thought to himself as he watched as Master Nox weaved his way through the crowd, leading six of House Stark guards who were carrying a large sheet of glass, the first glass ever produced in the North, between them. The panel was nearly the length of a full-grown man on both sides. And the glass was thick, far thicker than what currently made up the glass gardens. Yet it was still just as translucent as myrish glass. He could also spot Robb and Jon nearly hanging off of Nox's arm as the two asked question after question of the foreign man.

"Simply amazing, my Lord. He actually did it."

Beside him, Lord Wyman Manderly was staring down in open awe as he watched the guardsmen of House Stark carefully position the sheet of glass onto four logs that'd been placed under each corner of the glass panel. After sending the request for supplies and the reasoning for them to White Harbor, Lord Manderly had all but raced to supply Winterfell with whatever they needed. He'd even gone so far as to personally oversee the delivery as he too wanted to see if Nox could do what he said he could and had managed to deliver everything that'd been requested in little more than two weeks instead of a full moon's turn.

"Aye, it is," Ned nodded, watching as Nox instructed the guardsmen to step back, leaving the glass panel braced on the logs alone. "But now it is time to see if he spoke true about the strength of this glass."

Lord Manderly merely shrugged. "Even if it is not, the fact that we now know how to make Myrish glass is a gift from the old gods and the new."

Conceding the point, Ned watched as Nox raised right hand. As if he were a puppet master pulling the strings of a puppet, a nearby boulder the size of a man rose steadily into the air and began floating over the glass.

It was a testament to the mentality of the North that no one below seemed to even bat an eye at the obvious display of magic. Of course, this wasn't the first time Nox had used his strange magic in front of the denizens of Winterfell, so that had to be considered as well. The first time Nox had outright used his magic in front of everyone was on his fourth day within the walls of Winterfell when a cart was having a wheel replaced and the supports gave way, nearly falling on the man who'd been working on it. But before the cart could crush the man, it stopped in midair and then rose and floated off to the side, sparing the man any injury.

'_It was fortunate that his first open display of his magic was to save a man from __harm,_' Ned thought as he watched the rock hover over the glass panel. '_That, combined with the North's somewhat neutral stance on __magic,__ has allowed him to be quickly accepted by the people of the North_.'

Nox's second display of magic was when he built the furnace necessary to heat and make the glass. The structure was much like a bloomery, only several times the size. It was almost large enough for a grown man to crawl within. But what should've taken several men a couple of days to build, Nox finished in less than half a day. And on top of that, he'd also presented plans to make a much larger version that he called a 'blast furnace'. And if he claims about the amount of steel that could smelted using this supposed 'blast furnace' was true, then the North could soon outpace any of the other kingdoms in terms of steel production. The only thing that would slow them down was procuring the raw materials needed.

Below them, the noise of the crowd died down to a bare whisper as Nox held up his hand with his fingers extended, the boulder was the length of a man's arm from the glass. His raised hand closed into a fist and the boulder dropped freely. The impact with the glass was heard throughout the yard. Yet despite its size and the distance it'd been dropped from, the glass held strong. The people in the crowd exploded as they began shouting in celebration as the men who'd been assisting Nox with the creation of the glass suddenly found themselves surrounded with those offering their praises.

"Well, I'll be…" Lord Manderly chuckled. "The son of a bitch actually did it. Not even the best Myrish glass could've survived that."

"Aye." Ned nodded, doing his best to keep his face stoic instead of showing the surprise and elation he was truly feeling. Down below, Nox took a moment to break away from those celebrating him to look up at himself and Lord Manderly. No words were exchanged, but the knowing look was enough for Ned. '_He truly is a man of his word_.'

Beside him, Lord Manderly was less reserved in his thoughts and feelings. "Has he explained how his magic works my lord? Can anyone learn it? I'd give my right arm if either of my sons could learn to do even half of what he's done. Hells, I'm even considering betrothing my eldest daughter to him so that their children might inherit his gift. Do you know if he has a woman or not, my Lord?"

'_He has explained his magic and there are those who can learn. But I have yet to let him begin teaching my children. Cat's fears of his magic corrupting them still weighs heavily on my __mind,_' he thought before speaking aloud, "Aye, he has. Apparently, one needs to be born with the ability. It is not something that can just be taught to anyone. And as for him having a woman, those that've talked frequently with him have mentioned that he had a woman, but only that something happened to her and she is now dead. As for a match to your daughter, that is up to him. He is not of House Stark, so his betrothal is not for me to decide. But won't his magic cause problems for you and yours?"

Lord Manderly seemed taken aback by the question before snorting and shaking his head. "My family may worship the new gods, my Lord. But we worship the old as well. And we are of the North. We are not like those southern cowards. Magic doesn't scare us. It's a gift from the gods, something to be embraced. And can you imagine it, my Lord? If your children or any others could learn it here in the North? None would dare threaten the North again!"

Manderly's words nearly made Ned wince. '_Here is __a__ man who worships the __Seven__, yet he is not only accepting of magic, but he wants Nox to wed into his family. No doubt hoping that Nox's magic will be passed on to his children. __So,__ why am I so hesitant to allow my own children, who will one day lead the North, to learn the __Art__?_'

Before he could respond, a flutter of grey in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Maester Luwin had just entered the bridge from the keep, his steps hurried, and a raven's scroll clutched in his hand. "Maester Luwin," Ned greeted the aged Maester as the man all but ran to them. "You missed the demonstration, Maester. But the glass held just as Nox predicted it would."

Luwin paused then, his gaze going down to the crowd below before shaking his head. "I – I'm sorry I missed it my Lord. But there was a raven from King's Landing, sire. It's…It's not good."

Taking the message from Luwin, Ned unrolled the small scroll and read the message. His heart filling with dread and anger as he read. '_He knew…Nox fucking knew it. But how? I remember that day well…I'd felt something…strange through this Force power that Nox is always talking about, but I didn't know what it meant and Nox wouldn't tell me outside of informing me that I would know soon enough. I need to know how he was able to interpret that…sensation to this.'_

"My lord?" Lord Manderly said cautiously, quickly catching onto Ned's worsening mood as he lowered the message. "What news?"

"Dark wings and dark words, Lord Manderly," Ned responded solemnly. '_I must do my duty. No matter how much I want to stay here in Winterfell. Especially with Cat's recent announcement that she's two months along with child_.' "The krakens have sacked Lannisport and are raiding up and down the western coast. Balon Greyjoy has declared himself King of the Iron Isles and is in open rebellion with the Iron Throne. King Robert has called for all the banners to assemble and attack the Iron Isles in order to bring the Greyjoys to heel."


	4. Greyjoy Rebellion Part 1

**So, yup still around! I apologize for taking so long with this. Won't make excuses. I just hope that everyone out there is taking this current crisis seriously! COVID-19 is a big deal, so everyone please, don't risk it. Stay home and stay safe. And remember, it isn't just about you during this time. It's about everyone else as well. Social distancing isn't just about keeping yourself safe, it's about helping to try and stem the spread of the virus as well.**

**Anyway, onto the story. One thing I want to bring up is several reviewers have asked how Nox plans on recharging the lightsabers power cores. Honestly, this thought never really occurred to me, so I looked it up. And from what I read on wookipedia and a few other sources, it sounds like that if a lightsaber is properly made, it will continuously recharge the power cell while it's activated. So, that's what I'm going to be going with. And honestly, probably won't even really touch much on the topic because I have way too much other things to focus in on and, as some have point out, I can be a bit wordy at times.**

**And as always, a big shout out to my beta reader/brainstorm pal Tellemicus Sundance.**

**Also, putting this in there but trigger warnings for depiction of rape, violence, gore and language. This is Song Of Fire and Ice / Game of Thrones. The tags are probably a given, but felt the need to put them in there for this chapter.**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

The crowd from the presentation of Nox's glass, which had been dubbed ice-glass due to its color and strength, had barely begun to disperse before an errand boy had run up to Nox and informed him that Lord Stark wanted to speak with him in his solar immediately. Even before the boy could finish speaking, Nox knew exactly what Stark wanted to speak to him about. He'd felt it over a week ago now, but outside of telling Stark to order his bannermen to start gathering their men, he'd kept his thoughts to himself. He wanted to see if Stark had sensed it as well. Apparently, he hadn't. Or if he had, he hadn't been able to place what the feeling was.

Arriving at Ned's solar, Nox gave the wooden door a singular knock before calmly striding in. The Warden of the North was sitting behind his desk, a raven's note laying on the wooden surface before him. "How did you know?" Ned asked as Nox calmly shut the door.

"You will have to be more specific, my lord."

Ned's grey eyes turned on him and narrowed. "You know of what I speak of Nox. Two weeks ago, you advised me to begin telling my men to call their banners and ready themselves. And now today I received a raven from King's Landing. The Ironborn have sacked Lannisport. Balon Greyjoy has declared himself King of the Iron Island and no longer under the jurisdiction of King Robert Baratheon. The King has called all the banners to bring the Ironborn to heel. How did you know that this was going to come to pass?"

"I didn't." Nox answered simply. "At least I didn't know the specifics of what'd happened. All I know is that two weeks ago I felt a disturbance in the Force. Such a disturbance is usually associated with a great loss of life, like a terrible battle, or rather a slaughter. I merely assumed that someone attacked someone else on a grand scale. And given the King's…eagerness for a fight, I assumed that he would be answering whatever had happened with a show of force."

The Warden of the North stared at him for some time, as if trying to decide whether he truly believed him. "I felt this…disturbance as well," Lord Stark stated, bringing Nox up short. He hadn't expected Stark's force attunement to be quite so well refined already that he could sense the death and destruction of at least a thousand miles off. "At least, I thought I did. It was a chill, a slight shiver. One that I shrugged off as nothing more than a chill brought on by the morning air. But then you came to me and advised I begin gathering my banners, and I began to wonder if that slight sensation was truly something after all."

Pulling up a seat, Nox fixed the Lord of Winterfell with his full attention. "You're Force attunement is quite amazing for only having just reawakened your affinity. It makes me wonder just how powerful you could've been had you been discovered earlier and been trained properly."

Stark didn't necessarily seem entirely comfortable with the prospect. "Perhaps. But the past is the past and not the reason that I asked to speak with you today."

"No, of course not." Nox nodded. "You called me here because you are calling your banners and heading off to war. And you want me to come with you."

Stark nodded. "Aye, I do. I've seen the way you interact with the men in the yard. You might not have led a war before, but you've led in battle, haven't you?"

"You have no idea," Nox replied ruefully, thinking back to the many campaigns he participated in during his time as a Sith Lord of the Empire. "And I will go with you, Lord Stark. However, I must make you aware of something. I'm not going with you to _fight in_ this war, I'm going with you to _win_ this war. And to do so, I cannot be 'Master Nox'. I must reclaim my old moniker and become 'Darth Nox' once again."

"And what does that mean?" Stark asked seriously. "You have explained before that your title amongst your people was 'Darth Nox'. But what is so special about this title that you must hold it to fight in a war?"

"The title of Darth is not one that is handed out without cause, Lord Stark. In order to become a Darth, one must become death incarnate." Pausing in his explanation, Nox drew deeply on the dark side, letting it fill him as much as possible. While he couldn't see what was happening to the physical world around him, he'd done this enough in order to intimidate his subordinates that he knew exactly what was happening. The air in the room dropped several degrees, to a level where Stark's breath started to mist. And despite his usual stoic façade, Stark let out a slight shiver. "I will fight for you, Lord Stark. I will fight for the North against your enemies. But I will do so my way. I will not defeat the Ironborn. I will destroy them. I will leave such a lasting impression on them that the next son of a bitch reaver that even thinks of picking up a blade and turning to a life of piracy will shit themselves out of fear of retribution. And by the time this 'war' is done, there will be no hiding what I am nor what I can do. After this, there will be no going back to the way things were. So, having said that Lord Stark, do you still want me to march with you?"

Stark remained silent behind his desk as he absorbed the ultimatum that Nox had handed to him. Without saying a word, Stark pulled open one of the drawers on his desk and reached inside. Nox's lips turned upwards slightly as Stark pulled his ancestors lightsaber out of the drawer. "In truth Nox," Stark began, staring down at the lightsaber in his hands before placing it on the desk between them. "Things changed the moment you saved my son's life from the Wildings over a moon ago. Why should we stop the change now?"

The moment Stark offered him his lightsaber back, Nox, could feel a slight shifting in the Force. Stark handing Nox his lightsaber back meant something to the Force. Something that was supposed to happen. And Nox knew in that moment that he had truly started to earn the trust of the Warden of the North. _'Now all I need to do is to start training his children and Jon_.' "There is one more thing I must inform you of, Lord Stark." Nox began, mentally preparing himself as he knew he was about to delve into a pain part of his past. "I can and will tolerate a lot during war. But there is one thing I will not tolerate, and that is the act of rape. Should I find any man committing this act, regardless of their rank or station, I will kill them."

Stark didn't bat an eye as he stared at him. "I can respect your vigor, Nox, but I cannot condone such an act with-"

"I assure you, Lord Stark, there will be nothing for you to condone." Nox countered, "this will happen. But do not fear, I will make sure that my actions do not come back to tarnish you and the North."

Stark sighed while shaking his head, "men lose themselves in battle Nox. Especially when a castle is raided. Lord's cannot control all of their men at all times."

"No, but you can make a statement to make it so that when their blood does rise, they think twice before takiing out their dicks." Nox once again countered. "You've never once asked me about my eyes, Lord Stark."

The abrupt change in conversation made Stark start. "No, I respected your decision not to tell me."

"Then perhaps it is time I tell you why I am like this, and perhaps then you will understand why I will kill every rapist I come across." Nox began. "I've told you that in the Sith Empire there were slaves correct? Well, my mother and I were born into slavery, no idea who my father was. But despite my station, I never once fought back, I accepted what I was. But then one day when I was no older than Jon and Robb I discovered I could use the Force. Per the law of the Sith, every Force sensitive was to be tested and sent to the Temple of Korriban for training. My Master however, did not like the idea of a mere slave joining the ranks of the Sith. So, the night before I was to be tested by the Temple Guards he summoned myself and my mother to his chambers."

Pausing, Nox had to calm himself as he felt the dark side steadily encroaching on him as he told of his past. "He had his men hold me down and watch as his guards violently violated my mother in every way conceivable right in front of my eyes. They could do whatever they wanted to her just short of killing her. It took nearly half a day before the last man finished. And once he had, my Master gutted my mother like an animal right in front of me. And then to make sure that my mother's defiled gutted corpse was the last thing I ever saw, he took a red-hot poker to my eyes and removed my sight. And sadly, his plan worked. The next day when the Temple guards arrived my emotional state was such that I could not use the Force in front of them, and then after giving one guard a hefty pride, they left me. I was then thrown into the local's mines to die."

Taking a deep breath, Nox made sure he had Starks full attention. "I've done a lot in my time that many could consider 'bad'. But I've never once taken anyone against their will and I've always made sure to punish those that do so. And I am not about to stop now."

Frowning, Stark held his head in his hands, weighing Nox's words. He could almost see the debate going on in his head. Rape was more than likely going to happen during the war, in which case Nox would act. And probably force Stark to do some damage control. But it was either that or leave Nox behind and fight the war without him.

"Very well Nox." Stark declared after a long moment. "I will agree to you handling of the rapists. But only if their guilt is without question. And they must be offered the chance to take the Black first before you legally deal with them. Deviate from this, and you will no longer be welcome in the North. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now come," Stark said, rising to his feet as Nox gathered his lightsaber, "Lord Manderly, Jory and Ser Rodrik are awaiting us to discuss plans in the great hall."

"Will Jon and Robb be joining in the discussion?" Nox asked as the two left the room and walked through the halls.

Stark hesitated slightly at the suggestion. "They are both boys. Not even old enough to start growing hair on their faces."

"Yes, yes. Their balls haven't dropped yet. I understand that." Nox replied dismissively. "But Robb will be acting Lord of Winterfell while you are gone, won't he? Acting in name only of course. But still, it is never too young to begin teaching them about warfare. And any lesson is a good one."

Stark seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment before stopping a random servant that was passing them by. "You, go and collect my sons from their lessons with Maester Luwin and bring them to the great hall."

The older woman didn't seem fazed by the command as she obediently bowed. "Aye, milord."

The rest of their walk passed in silence. For Stark, the silence was expected. No doubt the man was thinking about the dozen or some plans he would have to set up in order to make sure Winterfell ran without him while at the same time thinking of potential battle plans for the North. For Nox though, his mind was purely on the fight to come. _'From what I've read, the Ironborn are little more than glorified pirates. But to attack and make such a brazen declaration…it doesn't make much sense. __Surely,__ Greyjoy must know what kind of reaction he'd garner from this. Which means one of two things. The man has a plan, or he is an incompetent idiot. Definitely something to ponder_.'

Arriving in the great hall, Nox and Stark were greeted with the sight of three men standing around a large table that had a map and wooden pieces scattered across its surface. Jory and Ser Rodrik, he knew right away. But the third man was one he'd never met. '_Lord Manderly, no doubt_.' Nox deduced as he observed the Lord of White Harbor through the eyes of the Force. _'He maybe one of the fattest men I've ever met, but his mind is keen. Very keen. And he's very accepting to new ideas and – oh. A daughter. And he, ah, I see. I was wondering how long I'd be able to last before I'd have to start skirting around marriage proposals from grasping Lords and Ladies_.'

"Lord Manderly," Stark greeted the fat man as he motioned for Nox to take a step forward. "This is Master Nox. Master Nox, this is Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord White Harbor."

"Master Nox." Manderly greeted him cordially, his tone bright and welcoming. "It is an honor. Word of your prowess has reached us even in White Harbor. And I for one am glad to see that they were not overstating things."

Nodding his head, Nox quickly thought back to everything he'd learned about the Lord of White Harbor, arguably one of the most important Lords in the North next to the Starks as they controlled the largest harbor in the North, not to mention the fifth largest city in Westeros. "How are your sons, Wylis and Wendel, my Lord? And your granddaughters, Wynaryd and Wylla. Are they in good health?"

Manderly seemed shaken for a moment, but he quickly shook it off as a large grin nearly split his face in two. "Yes, they are, Master Nox. Thank you for inquiring. Wynafryd is three years older than Lord Robb and my youngest, Wylla, is but two years younger. Both are a handful, but I love them dearly. If you have time, I'm sure that my sons and lovely granddaughters would be thrilled to have the chance to meet you. A real live sorcerer. It's something we only read about in ancient history or fantasy."

Nox couldn't help but notice the way Manderly had accented 'lovely' when describing his granddaughters. Nor did he miss the less than subtle jab with the eldest one's age. The eldest may be 'of age' in this world for him in a few years, but Nox would never entertain the notion of marrying and bedding what he still considered to be a child. But there was a second hidden hint in discussing their age. And that was their prospects for Robb and the potential to become the future Lady of Winterfell.

"Perhaps, when time permits and after the Ironborn have learned their place, I will need to take a trip and explore your wonderful city."

"Aye," Lord Manderly agreed before his face turned serious. "But as you said, that can wait until the Ironborn have been dealt with. Forgive me, Lord Stark for taking your time during this session."

"There is no need to ask for forgiveness, Lord Manderly. We are still waiting on a few more to join us." Lord Stark explained, waving off the fat man's concerns.

Before anyone could question, the doors to the hall opened once more. Robb was in the lead, his young eyes wide and full of concern as he walked into the hall with Jon, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, followed behind with Maester Luwin coming in last. "Lord Stark." Maester Luwin nodded in greeting. "We are here as you requested."

"Good," Stark nodded, motioning for Robb and Jon to approach. "Boys come here for a moment. We have much to discuss."

Robb strode forward confidently, but Jon always kept a pace back. Nox could feel the emotions rolling off the boy. The stench of fear and a sense of unworthiness rolling off him in waves. '_I'm going to have to work on that if he's to reach his full potential in the future_.'

"Father." Robb greeted Stark before his eyes cast a quick glance down at the table. "What's…What's happening?"

"War, son." Stark responded simply, drawing quick looks from both Robb and Jon. "The Ironborn have rebelled and King Robert has called the banners of Westeros to deal with them. And as his Warden of the North, I am bound by oath and honor to respond to the call."

Robb's eyes widened to an almost impossible degree as he became ripe with fear. "You're…You're leaving? You're going to fight?"

"Aye," Stark answered simply again. "And while I am gone, you, Robb, will be the Lord of Winterfell."

At this, Robb's eyes very nearly fell out of his young head. "Father…I…I don't' know…I'm not ready!"

Sighing, Stark knelt next to his son. "No one ever is ready for this my son. But you are my son. A true son of the North with the blood of the First Men running through you. You can do this. And you will not be alone. Ser Rodrik will be staying behind, as will Maester Luwin, your mother and Steward Vayon. And if it is not an inconvenience Lord Manderly, I would ask that you stay here in Winterfell until my return to help advise my son as well."

Manderly blinked, but quickly nodded. "Of course, my Lord. It would be my honor to help your son during this time."

"Good," Stark nodded before motioning Jon forward. "Jon. You may not have my name, but you are of Stark blood and my son. The same blood that flows in Robb flows in you as well. And he will need your help, whatever help you can give him. Support your brother at all times."

Jon's back straightened, the feeling of inadequacy and fear being replaced slightly by a sense of purpose as Jon quickly nodded. "Yes father, I will do everything I can to help Robb."

"Good." Stark nodded again, rising to his feet and ushering both boys forward to the table. "Now both of you stay, watch, listen and learn. Ser Rodrik?"

Leaning over the table, Rodrik began moving various pieces around the board. "The squids have attacked Lannisport and several other ports along the Westerlands and even a few in the northern areas of the Reach and the Riverlands. Mostly raids and runs, but they are proving effective at cutting us off from the sea. Lord Stannis has set sail with the royal fleet from Kings Landing and his making his way around Westeros and, from the King's message, intends to meet up with ships from the Reach before continuing. They will then work to ferry men from the Westerlands and the Reach to the Iron Isles."

Stark nodded, taking in the map laid out before him. "Maester Luwin, send out the ravens to all of the keeps in the North. King Robert has made a call, and we will answer it. Timing is of the essence, so tell each House to gather only their bests for this war. All Houses that lie north of Winterfell will make for Deepwood Motte and set sail from there. The rest will converge on Torrhen's Square and set sail from that point. We will then set sail south and converge with the rest of the southern Houses around the Iron Isles."

"Yes, Lord Stark. I will send the ravens immediately." Maester Luwin.

While everything seemed simple enough, Nox didn't like it. Something wasn't right. "Tell me, Lord Stark. The Iron Islands can only field a few thousand at best, no?"

Stark paused before answering. "Aye, ten at most and that is if they arm just about every man and woman on the Islands. Their true strength lies within their boats and on the sea."

Leaning over the map, Nox immediately plotted out several attack plans that could be in play. "Tell me, boys, what do you make of this?"

Both Robb and Jon hesitated. "Make of what, Master Nox?" Robb asked after a moment.

"This war," Nox responded. "Seemingly out of nowhere, Balon Greyjoy sacks Lannsiport and burns it nearly to the ground. Not the smartest move in my opinion as Lord Tywin Lannister is a man that is known not suffer slights lightly. And then there is the Queen to consider as well. She is a Lannister as well. Attacking her homeland so brazenly would not only prompt an immediate response from the Westerlands, but from the crown as well. So, why did he attack? Why are they only raiding and then retreating instead of trying to make inroads onto the mainland?"

The two youngsters' frown as they both thought on his question. "Because he's trying to lure the armies out to sea where the Ironborn are stronger?" Robb answered hesitantly after a while.

"That is a good possibility, and more than likely correct in this instance." Nox agreed, earning a smile from the young lad. "But there is another potential piece to this plan. Can you boys spot it?"

Both lads leaned over the table, examining the map as closely as they could. When neither could answer him, Nox decided to give the two a hint. "Tell me, boys. In warfare, do you want to strike where your enemy is looking?"

Both boys shook their heads, but neither could come up with an answer. That was until Jon's eyes widened. "King's Landing."

All the men in the room blinked, save for Nox who wouldn't have even if he could. Jon, suddenly unsure at finding himself the center of attention, backed off slightly. "No need to be shy boy." Nox said, patting on Jon on the back and encouraging him to speak up. "Say what you see."

Swallowing hard, Jon stepped up to the table. "Umm, it's like Master Nox said. You don't hit your enemy where they think you're going too. Everyone is looking at the Iron Islands and the Westerlands, then who is looking at King's Landing?"

The men around the table all looked down at the map, considering his words. "A good thought, Jon." Eddard agreed, earning a bright smile from Jon. "But it is doubtful. It would take an army of considerable size to lay siege to King's Landing. And even with Stannis bringing the fleet away from port, the city is still heavily defended and a few reavers will not be able to take, let alone hold the city."

"Unless that is not their goal in the assault." Nox countered, drawing quick looks from everyone in the room, which he ignored as he turned back to Robb and Jon. "How does one win a war?"

Robb and Jon both looked at one another as if confused. "You…defeat your enemy…?" Robb half stated, half questioned as if the answer was obvious, but he wasn't sure.

"That is one way, yes." Nox nodded. "But there is another, and more common way for a war to end. Your enemy concedes defeat. This can be done by either defeating their armies. Outmaneuvering them and forcing them to admit that continuation of the war would not be in their best interest. Or, you can hold something over their heads, something they value enough that they are willing to concede defeat. So, having said that, and going back to what Jon and Lord Stark just stated, how could the Ironborn win this war without ever having to really fight?"

Neither boy could put it together, but the experienced men around the table quickly did catch his meaning. And Lord Stark was the first to give words to them. "You can't mean…the royal family? You think they mean to try and kidnap a member of the royal family and force Robert to concede defeat?"

"Why not?" Nox asked. "It's a strategically sound move. Balon cannot win on land, so he must keep everyone at sea. Not possible in a prolonged war. So, the next best option is to hold something that King Robert values enough that he would back off. To my knowledge, there are two royal children, Joffery and Myrcella. Children to the King, grandchildren to Tywin Lannister. Holding either would allow Balon to force two the main parts of the army attacking to hold back. And also, they don't _need_ to hit King's Landing. Dragonstone is the seat of Stannis Baratheon, no? He too has a young daughter, and now with Stannis leaving Dragonstone and taking the royal fleet with him, the island has little more than a token defense guarding it."

"That's…That's dishonorable!" Robb nearly shouted, which only made Nox chuckle.

"Rule of warfare, young man. Never expect your enemies to hold to your ideals."

Across the table, Ser Rodrik was eyeing him wearily. "And how do you know the Ironborn would enact such tactics?"

"I don't," Nox responded, unconcerned by the tone in the elder man's voice. "But I've fought plenty of pirates or raiders or whatever you want to call them in my day. And while cultures and beliefs may differ, they are relatively similar no matter where you go."

Stepping back from the table, Stark turned to Lord Manderly. "Whether Nox is correct or not, it is a possibility we must consider. Lord Manderly, I would task you to send your fleet south to guard both Dragonstone and King's Landing while the royal fleet is away."

"Aye, my lord." Lord Manderly nodded, "I'll send the raven myself and order my son Wendel to depart immediately."

"There is one more thing we must consider, Lord Stark." Nox interjected. "Right now, the Ironborn are reaving up and down the southern lands of Westeros. But they know, with your public friendship with the King, that it is more than likely that you will march to war against them. It's logical that they will be seeking a way to stall your advance. If they were to try and sink a good portion of your ships, where would be a good place to hit?"

Pausing, Stark stared down at the map. "Barrowton. It's not heavily defended, the voyage upriver from the Saltspear. Torrhen's Square is another possibility, but the trek upriver is longer, allowing for a greater chance of being spotted and thereby allowing the men of the land to prepare a defense."

"Then I suggest that we head there immediately and reinforce the town."

"Aye, I agree." Stark nodded before turning towards Jory. "Jory, organize a hundred of our best and a hundred horses. We set out at first light and ride hard for Barrowton."

"Aye, my lord." Jory saluted, fist over his heart.

As Stark began listing off a series of responsibilities and do's and don'ts for Robb and Jon, Nox remained still studying the map laid out before him. '_Not necessarily how I imagined I'd announce myself to this world. But it will do. And besides…it has been sometime since I've been able to let go like one can during a war. Hopefully I'll come across an Ironborn that might prove a challenge. That would make this diversion somewhat worth it._'

* * *

It took Nox less than a day to decide that he really didn't care for riding horses. In the Empire, almost all travel was done via speeder bikes or speeders or some form of cushioned ride. Riding animals was an extravagance. And while some worlds still depended on using animals for transit, due to world conditions that made them more efficient than mechanical transportation, Nox tended not to use them if he could. He'd never seen the point. But now, after riding for over ten days at the brutal pace Lord Stark had set for them to reach Barrowton quickly, Nox was regretting his decision not to get used to animal transit. His thighs ached and his ass was killing him. The only relief he was able to find were the brief moments when Stark would call a halt in order to rest and water their horses momentarily.

On the eleventh day into their trek, Barrowton came into view. And as it did, Nox found himself shaking his head even as the other men of House Stark began muttering in surprise and outrage. "Sometimes it's almost painful to be right all the time."

In the distance, plumes of smoke were rising from within town of Barrowton. Over a dozen longboats were stationed just outside the harbor that was connected to the river that few into the Saltspear. Each sail of the longboats was decorated with emblems belonging to a House that owed their loyalty to the Greyjoy's of the Pyke. He could almost hear the cries of battle coming from within the town as the defenders within tried to fight back against the pirates that'd stormed their shores.

"It seems that you were right, Master Nox." Lord Stark stated angrily as he brought his horse alongside his own. "The krakens have indeed decided to attack the North as well as the south."

"Yes." Nox nodded as he reached out through the Force, trying to ascertain what was happening within the walls of Barrowton. "And it looks as if Lady Dustin didn't take your words to heart when you told her to ready the defenses of her city. Foolish."

"Aye, I'll be having words with her. A personal vendetta is no reason to neglect one's subjects." Lord Stark muttered, anger lacing his voice. "But that can wait. First, we must liberate Barrowton. The north gate is still open, we can ride in an-"

"No offense, Lord Stark." Nox muttered, sliding easily off his horse and shaking his legs to get the blood flowing to his limbs. "But I work better alone. You and your men should secure the town. The pirates have made it about halfway to the keep, and Lady Dustin has sealed the gates and put her best men on the walls, keeping her safe. But the krakens don't care her or the keep. They're merely raiding the city, taking what they want and killing whoever gets in their way. I'll make for the harbor and cut off their retreat."

Stark looked at him with a look of disbelief, but he nodded none the less. "Very well, I'll leave the harbor to you. But shouldn't you take your horse? You'll be able to cover ground faster if-"

Nox didn't give Stark the chance to finished what he'd been saying before he took off like a shot towards Barrowton. The Force fueling his movements and allowing him to move faster than any human had a right to move. After not using the Force for so long in such a manner, Nox almost felt euphoric as the Force flowed through him, strengthening his body and fueling him. Once he reached the base of the wall surrounding the town he jumped, using the Force to throw himself skywards and sailing clear over the tall wall and onto the roof of a house that was stationed nearby within the confines of the wall.

He could hear the guards that were stationed on the wall behind him shouting at him, but he tuned them all out as he sunk deeply into the Force, feeling out where the fighting was taking place within the town. He could sense multiple small skirmishes all over. But there was one in a heavily populated area that drew his attention. He could sense dozens of Ironborn pirates and…untrained Northmen trying desperately to hold them back. '_Hmph. And the guards of this town are all sitting on their asses protecting the inner keep. How pathetic_.'

His course set, Nox turned and ran across the roof, jumping when he reached the edge of the house and landing on the house next to it. Making his way quickly across the town, he homed in on the fight happening in the populated area. The Ironborn were pushing the untrained militia back at a steady pace, the untrained men and boys no match for the hardened pirates. Reaching the edge of the square, Nox jumped off the house he was on, aiming for the thick of the fighting.

Channeling his hatred and his excitement at the prospect of the battle to come, he propelled himself downwards, slamming into the ground directly before an Ironborn pirate who'd just been about to run a fallen northern man through. The force of his impact sent a shockwave through the ground, sending both Ironborn and northern men stumbling backwards away from him.

'_That's tough on the knees,_' Nox winced, channeling the Force through his body to alleviate the slight pain emanating from his knees. _'Need to reign it in a bit. It's been so long since I've been able to truly let go like this that I'm forgetting the basics. Stupid and amateurish. Ashara would've handed me my ass pulling such __an__ idiotic stunt without compensating for the landing_.'

Turning his head to face the northern men behind him, Nox found that the militiamen had yet to recover as most were staring at him in opened mouth shock. "It'd be for the best if you all sit this one out." Nox calmly informed them, "I cannot guarantee that I won't kill you by accident if you get in my way."

"Who the fuck are you?"

Turning the other direction, Nox faced off against the Ironborn. The pirates had been much quicker to reorient themselves. The nearly two dozen pirates had managed to form a shield wall of sorts, leaving three men wearing steel plated armor between himself and them. "Who I am is of no consequence to you." Nox replied calmly, address the Ironborn in the lead, a rather unfortunate looking man who had a scar running across his face from temple to mouth. "After all, my name will do you no good once you're dead."

The unfortunate looking Ironborn grinned as he reaffixed his grip on his axe and brought his shield up. "Ha! Finally, a worthy opponent! Come at me! And let me send you to the Dro-"

The hiss of Nox's lightsaber activating cut the man off as Nox disappeared from his sight, only to reappear behind him. "Pathetically slow," Nox muttered.

The unfortunate looking Ironborn didn't even have time to react as Nox's lightsaber bisected him, putting him to the ground in two pieces. The other two Ironborn fared little better as the sudden death of their leader stunned them, giving Nox more than ample time to cut both men down with his lightsaber.

Shaking his head at just how easy it'd been to dispatch three of the pirates, Nox faced off against the dozen Ironborn making up the shield wall. "Well, who's next?"

Three men separated themselves from the others, shooting war cries, something along the lines of 'what is die may never die' as they charged at him, their swords or axes raised and their shields held slightly off to their sides. "You're full of openings," Nox commented dryly as settled into a sorseu guard. "You're all full of openings."

Three quick steps followed with three equally quick cuts, and Nox felled three more Ironborn before the first even knew what'd happened. "I thought that you Ironborn were supposed to be ruthless pirates who fought with the strength of ten men," Nox lamented as he idly twirled his lightsaber in a slow circle to his side. "I'd actually been looking forward to this. I'd hoped that you lot would prove to be something resembling a challenge. But now I see I was sorely mistaken. Such a pity. I guess I'm just going to have to kill you all for wasting my time like this."

The Ironborn broke their line as they all charged him as one, battle lust and anger clouding their judgement. Keeping his movements to the bare minimum, Nox deftly weaved his way in between the charging Ironborn, his lightsaber a blur of motion around him as he cut them down on by one. Time lost meaning as each death he wrought fed into the dark side flowing through him. All too soon for his tastes, it was over. Over a dozen Ironborn lay dead at his feet, limbs separated from bodies and shields and weapons cut into pieces.

Rolling his neck as he allowed the almost euphoric sensation of the dark side coursing through him to subside, Nox turned his attention to the last two remaining Ironborn. They were young. And scared shitless. Literally by the smell emanating from one of the two. Had this been the Empire, he would peg the two as just barely being old enough to be enlisted into the Imperial Army. But that didn't bother him. He'd killed younger. No, what bothered him was the fact that the fight was all but gone from the two.

"How pathetic." Nox groaned, shaking his head. "You two were so eager to kill, rape and reave just a moment ago. But now that you are facing an opponent of my caliber, you're both shitting yourselves. Pathetic. Did it not occur to you that you both might be putting your lives on the line when you came to pillage this town? Or did you think you'd be able to do as you please and leave without harm?"

Both boys turned towards one another, sharing an unspoken conversation before turning back to him. As one, they dropped their shields and weapons and fell to their knees. "Please…" One of the boys whimpered, "Don't kill us!"

Scoffing, Nox deactivated his lightsaber and clipped it onto his belt. "Pathetic." Turning towards the remaining townsfolk, all of whom were staring at Nox in opened mouth awe, he motioned towards the two kneeling boys. "Bind them and bring them to either Lord Stark, who's just passed by the outer wall, or the leader of this town. Lady Dustin, if my memory is correct. Then create a barricade here to protect you from both directions and hold up as best you can until the fighting is over. Lord Stark should be arriving momentarily with reinforcements to aid you and your people."

Not wanting to give the northerners a chance to argue against his orders, Nox leapt back up onto the roof of a nearby house and began moving towards the harbor. Arriving at the docks, Nox found that the Ironborn ships were relatively undefended. The only pirates visible were those that were loading whatever they could carry onto their longboats. Scanning the rest of the docks, Nox grimaced as he took note of the northern sea vessels. Or rather what was left of them. _'Damn it. I really hate it when I'm right sometimes_.'

The Ironborn had obviously made disabling the northern ships a priority before they began to raid the town. Almost all the ships were at the very least partially sunk, and those that weren't were put to the torch. _'Well_,' Nox thought, summing his lightsaber hilt into his hand. '_Good thing that we the Ironborn were so nice to provide us with replacements_.' Drawing on the Force, Nox leapt off the building he'd been standing on, activating his lightsaber in midair and bringing it down onto an unsuspecting pirate, cutting the man clean in two.

The dying scream of the pirate he'd bisected alerted those nearby to Nox's presence. The men all started yelling as they dropped whatever they were carrying and began to scramble for whatever weapons were nearby. "Well then," Nox smiled beneath his mask as he rolled his shoulders. "Let's have some fun."

* * *

Riding through the gates of Barrow Town, Ned felt the familiar rush of the wolf within him howling at the prospect of a fight. In the past he'd always suppressed the wolf within. But this time, this time he did the exact opposite. He didn't suppress the wolf, he let it free. Sights, sounds. Everything was clearer to him as he and his one hundred men rode through the gate with their swords drawn, ready to liberate Barrowton.

The first Ironborn they came across didn't stand a chance, as his back was turned towards Ned and his men. A part of Lord Arryn's teachings screamed at him to give the man a warning, a chance to fight back, but the wolf was louder. This man, this Ironborn, dared to attack the North. His people. Like hells was he about to give him a chance. The thundering of the horse's hooves brought the Ironborn man around, but it was far too late as Ice sliced through the air, cutting clean through the man's neck.

Pulling tightly on the reigns of his horse, Ned brought himself around in tight circle, surveying the town around him. "Jory!" He shouted. "Take twenty men with you to the keep! The rest of you, with me! We liberate Barrowton of the Ironborn and throw the bastards back into the sea!"

"Yes, my lord!" Jory shouted, his sword already bloody and the body of an Ironborn near the hooves of his horse. "You twenty, with me! The rest of you ride with our lord! The Warden of the North! The Quiet Wolf!"

The men of House Stark shouted. Their swords raised as the lust for battle took hold. Ned could almost taste their desire to fight on the tip of his tongue. And for once, the thought didn't disgust him. He wanted to fight. He wanted to throw these bastards back into the sea. He wanted them to bleed for daring to attack his people. And by the old gods, he was going to see that through!

Digging his heels into his horse, Ned set off deeper through the wide streets of Barrowton, the eighty men still with him close behind and forming up. The deeper they went into the town, the more and more Ironborn they encountered, but never more than ten or twenty at a time. And while the Ironborn could never be considered cowards, they were not stupid either. The moment those ten to twenty men found themselves facing eighty heavily armored and mounted adversaries, most turned tail and fled. Or rather, they moved into the town and off of the main roads where the men of the North lost their advantage of being on horse in the tight quarters of the side streets.

"Damn it," Ned growled yet another group of Ironborn turned tail and ran into the narrow backstreets the moment Ned and his men descended upon them. The only silver lining to the Ironborn tactics was that they were slowly being funneled out of the town and towards the harbor. But that raised another concern. If the Ironborn managed to retreat to their ships, they would surely set sail immediately and then they would be gone. And while Nox stated that he would be taking care of the harbor, how much could one man truly do against this many?

Turning towards his men, he raised his voice to shout so all could hear him over the sounds of fighting. "Half of you continue this pace through the town and funnel the Ironborn towards the harbor! The other half will ride with me to the harbor! We'll cut the legs out from these Ironborn cunts and send them to their Drowned God after facing northern justice!"

Riding hard, Ned and the remaining forty of his men rode as fast as they could through the streets, heading for the harbor. As they came upon what Ned knew to be the main market of the town near the harbor, they came upon a curious sight. Near two dozen Ironborn pirates were held up in the middle of the street, by a makeshift barricade that'd obviously been hastily constructed in the middle of the street to cut off any retreat.

Rising in his stirrups, Ned cleared his throat and held Ice aloft. "Ironborn! There is no hope for retreat now! Surrender an-"

A sensation, a warning from the wolfsblood made Ned drop down and roll out of his saddle; just in time for a crossbow bolt to pass right where his chest had been and pierce through the armor of one of the men behind him. Making the man tumble out of his saddle with a cry of pain as he clutched at the bolt sticking out of his shoulder.

Quickly rolling to his feet, Ned brought Ice to bare as he stared down the Ironborn that were quickly trying to arrange themselves into some sort of formation to face off against the north men. As much as Ned wanted to just end this, his time in the Vale and under the tutelage of Jon Arryn demanded that he give the doomed men a chance. "Men of the Iron Islands! This is your last chance, surrender now and you may live the rest of your life at the wall. Do not, and your lives end here and now!"

"What is dead may never die!" One of the Ironborn near the front of the pack shouted, to which several behind echoed.

Shaking his head, Ned motioned for his men to form up. "So be it."

The fight, if it could even be called that, lasted for less than a few minutes. Stuck between the makeshift barricade behind them and the northern cavalry in front of them, the Ironborn stood little chance. Within a single pass, nearly half of the Ironborn were dead and the other half quickly lost their nerve, nearly tripping over themselves in order to surrender to the northern forces.

With the remaining Ironborn either dead or surrendering, Ned picked up a discarded cloak and carefully wiped the blood off of Ice as he watched his men round up the remaining reavers. "Lord…Lord Stark."

Turning his attention off of the gathering of the prisoners, Ned spied one of the residents of Barrowton carefully making his way over the barricade, pausing only for a moment to put the club he'd been using to fight down before stopping a respectful few paces away from Ned. "Aye," Ned nodded, sheathing Ice once he was satisfied, he'd gotten all the blood off of the ancient blade. "And what is your name, good man?"

"Thomas, milord." The man said, bowing his head respectfully. "You…You truly are Lord Stark? You…You came…just like he said you would."

"He?" Ned questioned, giving the smallfolk man his full attention.

The man nodded, "Aye, milord. A strange man he was. Dressed all in black, even had a black hood over his head. And he was wearin a mask dat covered his face from the eye. And he wielded a sword made-"

"-of fire. And said sword cut though anything it encountered, didn't it?" Ned finished for the man, to which Thomas nodded. "Where did he go?"

The man blinked, then turned and waved towards the south. "He went that way, milord, towards the harbor. Said we'd go with him we would, but he told us to stay here and wait for you, milord. Said it'd be safer."

"And he was right on that assumption." Ned muttered to himself before turning towards his men. "Ten of you, stay here with the people and aid them in fighting off any lingering Ironborn reavers. The rest of you with me, we ride for the harbor and aid Master Nox."

Climbing back onto his horse, the smallfolk of Barrowton made quick work in creating a narrow path that would allow the cavalry to pass through their barricade two at a time. Strangely enough, their time between the barricade and the harbor passed without incident with nary an Ironborn in sight. A fact which set Ned on edge, as well as many of his men. But when they arrived at the harbor, the reason for the lack of Ironborn became very apparent.

"Gods save us," one of the men near him muttered as the harbor came into a view. It was a sentiment that was echoed by many of his men.

Ned was of mind to agree with his men. The harbor had been turned into a graveyard. Dozens of Ironborn lay dead across the docks, some in pieces. Worst of all, almost all the northern vessels that'd been anchored on the docks were scuttled. But thankfully enough, the Ironborn long ships were still intact. Abandoned, yet intact.

"My lord!" one of his men shouted, pointing westwards down the docks. "Movement over there!"

Pulling his horse around, Ned followed where his man was pointing. "To arms, men!" Ned shouted, raising Ice as he spotted a lone reaver running towards them, a crazed look in the man's eye. But despite expecting more to appear behind him, the reaver stood alone against the men of House Stark. '_What drives a man to attack such numbers alone?_'

Without warning, the reaver froze mid step. His eyes widened with fear as he was suddenly hoisted into the air while clutching at his throat as if some invisible force had a hold of him. The man flailed about in the air for a second before flying backwards away from Ned. His movements ceased when a bright red blade erupted from the center of his chest, ending his life. The blade was wrench free and the body tossed aside, revealing Nox to be the one that ended the reaver's life.

Ned was not a follower of the Seven, no matter what some believed. But in the that moment, seeing Nox in black garb and mask, blood red sword held at his side and the cold feeling of death that almost seemed to be radiating from the man, Ned honestly would've sworn that Nox was the Stranger incarnate. '_This…This is what he meant when __he__ explained that a Darth is death itself. He was not lying on that matter_.'

"Lord Stark, I regret to inform you that the Ironborn managed to destroy most of the Northern vessels before I could arrive," Nox's voice was calm, almost devoid of everything, as if he were merely discussing the weather with him instead of delivering a report on a battle while surrounded by dozens of dead. "However, I have managed to procure the North a fleet of Ironborn long ships. They won't be needing them anymore."

"Aye, I can see that," Ned nodded, taking note of the dead reavers scattered throughout the harbor. Sheathing Ice, an action which prompted the rest of him men to follow suit, Ned pulled his horse around. "You men will stay here and secure the harbor and take any Ironborn still alive prisoner if possible. You there, give your horse to Master Nox. I need to have words with Lady Dustin." His men immediately moved to follow his commands. The soldier he'd told to dismount did so immediately, allowing Nox to take his horse in turn.

"So, what can we expect from this Lady Dustin?" Nox asked him as the two rode away from the docks and towards the main keep of Barrowton. "When you mentioned her before, I sensed trepidation in you. Why would that be? She is your banner lady, is she not?"

"Aye, she is," Ned nodded. "But there is…history between Bethany Dustin and House Stark. Unfortunately, it is not a pleasant history. And that is all that I will say on the matter for now."

"As you wish," Nox conceded, as the two continued in silence.

As they rode up the hill that housed the main keep of Barrowton, Barrow Hall, Nox took the time to carefully examine the seat of House Dustin. While the keep itself was made of stone, the walls surrounding the keep were made primarily of wood with stone square towers. Not that ideal for defense, but its position upon the hill did give it the defensive capabilities to fight off invaders.

As Nox and Stark rode through the main gates of Barrow Hall, the dozens of men milling about the courtyard immediately ceased whatever they were doing and turned towards them. Almost as one, the men of the yard began cheering for the two. Their relief that the assault on their town had ended was so thick in the air that Nox could almost taste it. But despite the joyful atmosphere surrounding them, there was a black spot. A pool of…well, 'hatred' was not quite the right word. Disdain was more apt. The black whorl of emotion stood in such contrast to the rest of the people celebrating in the yard that it stood out like a search light in the dark.

'_Lady Barbery Dustin, no doubt_.' Nox thought, focusing in on the tall and relatively attractive woman standing with her back straight at the entrance to the main keep. '_A complicated, unpleasant history __indeed, Stark,__ if this is her reaction to your mere presence. Even after you and your men helped to liberate her city from Ironborn reavers_.'

Despite her internal feelings towards her liege Lord, Lady Dustin kept her outward appearance completely devoid of all emotion as Nox and Stark dismounted from their horses less than a few paces away from the entrance of the keep. "Lord Stark," Lady Dustin greeted her liege Lord coolly, her eyes briefly passing over Nox before dismissing him and refocusing on Stark. "Your assistance is…welcome. I'm glad to see that you brought more than a stallion with you this time."

The remark was spiked with utter contempt from Lady Dustin and brought about a quick ping of remorse within Stark. "Lady Dustin," Stark returned her greeting just as coolly. "Barrowton is of the North, as I am. I will do whatever I can to defend its people. I am heartened that we were able to arrive before the reavers managed to do too much damage."

Keeping his distance, Nox carefully observed the verbal volleying between Stark and Lady Dustin. While he hadn't truly considered Stark to be completely politically savvy, this interaction alone proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't a complete novice. "Yes, heartening indeed," Lady Dustin acknowledged. "And tell me, how many reavers managed to escape from the harbor and how many Northern ladies have they taken to rape? Or northern men to turn into thralls on their ships?"

"None," Stark countered quickly, drawing Lady Dustin up short. "Master Nox here managed to cut off the Ironborn's escape long enough for the men of House Stark and your own House to bring the raid to complete end without a single reaver ship managing to escape."

At the mention of his name, Nox could hear several murmurs of 'sorcerer' being muttered about the yard. _'Interesting. It seems that my reputation has indeed spread throughout the North quickly. Amazing, considering this lands lack of quick information exchange_.'

As for Lady Dustin, she turned her attention back to him, her disdain diminishing and being replaced with a bought of curiosity. "Ah, your foreign sorcerer. We've heard tales of him. Each more unlikely than the last."

A challenge. Despite her obvious disdain for all things related to the Starks, Nox found himself taking a liking to the woman. Not one individual since he'd made an example of the Stark guardsmen on his first day in Winterfell had dared to talk to him so. It was…refreshing, after a fashion. "I assure you, Lady Dustin," Nox replied, stepping forward and taking a slight bow with a smirk firmly in place. "If anything, the stories that you have heard of me have been greatly watered down."

Lady Dustin stared at him, as if she were trying to figure out if he was trying to play her for a fool. "Time will tell, Master Nox," she said, cutting his title sharply before moving back to Stark. "I'm afraid that with your sudden arrival and the turmoil that we just experienced, I cannot have rooms prepared for you and your men within Barrow Hall at this moment, Lord Stark."

Nor did she want to have rooms available either, Nox noted, seeing through her ploy with relative ease. Stark didn't seem to mind in the least however, as he merely nodded. "You and your people come first, my Lady. I see will see to it that I and my men are situated in town. And we shall pay for our time here as well."

Obviously whatever reaction Lady Dustin expected from Stark, him simply going along with her denial of giving him rooms and offering to pay for his stay as well was not among them. "I see," Lady Dustin nodded slowly. "Well then, if there is nothing else, Lord Stark, I must beg your leave. There is much work still to be done in the aftermath of this attack."

"Of course, Lady Dustin," Stark agreed. "Should you have need of my men, you need only ask."

Without waiting for another word, Lady Dustin turned heel and marched back into the keep. Leaving her men rushing to keep up with her retreating form. "Well," Nox chuckled once the doors to Barrow Hall closed. "That's an interesting woman. And I can see what you mean by a complicated history. That woman…"

"Hates me," Stark finished for him. "Aye, I know."

"No, I wouldn't say hate." Nox replied. "That's too simple a word. Disdain I think is more apt. And, if I do say so, Lord Stark, such feelings are usually not garnered without reason."

Turning away from Barrow Hall and Nox, Stark easily swung himself back up into his saddle. "That…is a long story Nox."

Shrugging, Nox hefted himself back up into the saddle, wincing slightly at the saddle sores that he knew were developing on his thighs. "Well, we have a week at best before the closest of your bannermen begin to arrive. I'd say we have time for a 'long story'."

Flicking his reigns, Stark led the two of them away from Barrow Hall and back into the streets of Barrowton. "I suppose to tell the tale correctly, I need to go back to when I was but a boy and fostered in the Vale and my elder brother Brandon was sent to foster in the Rills under House Ryswell, Lady Dustin's House of birth."

* * *

While Nox and Stark had been hoping to spend only a week or two at best in Barrowton, they'd ended up spending nearly three before the last of the Northern Lords who were to ride with Stark managed to all arrive. Thankfully the time had been well spent repairing what few Northern sea vessels were salvageable and altering the Ironborn long boats to better suit their needs. But even after spending nearly a month in Barrowton, that was only the start of the waiting. They then had to spend another week on the seas before they managed to arrive at the Iron Isles.

And after over a month of doing next to nothing, Nox was growing more than slightly anxious. Anxious for the chance to finally cut lose once more. To utilize the Force to its fullest. The fight once more. _'I'm going to have to develop a new means of faster travel_.' Nox thought to himself as he stood near the bow of the ship carrying himself, Stark and the men of House Stark. '_The problem is, what type of propulsion would be feasible in this era? A piston __engine,__ perhaps. But there in lays the problem. No one has used such a propulsion system in __many__ thousands of years! The idea is simple enough…but how to execute it is another matter completely_.'

As the ship slowly pulled towards the docks, Nox put aside thoughts for the future and refocused himself on the here and now. He had a war to win after all. Stepping off the northern sea vessel, Nox took in the town of Lordsport, the main port town belonging the island of Pyke, the home of Castle Pike and the seat of House Greyjoy. The town was, to put it mildly, a shit hole. But that wasn't necessarily the Iron Islanders' fault. The forces belonging to the crown, the Westerlands, the Reach and the Riverlands had done a number on the settlement. Numerous buildings had been burned down to the ground and the dead were still laying in piles in the streets while the victors drunkenly celebrated in the streets.

"I hate war," Lord Stark mumbled next to him as the two men made their way off the docks with Jory Cassel and Ser Rodrik Cassel flanking them on either side. Several of men at arms stopped their celebrating as they noticed their arrival. But besides that, they did nothing to stop them from entering the ruined remains of the town.

"Pathetic." Nox mumbled, not caring the least that the drunken celebrators could hear him. "Not one person has tried to question our arrival. Even though over half of our fleet were made of Ironborn vessels, they did nothing to halt us from approaching their main camp. Incompetence doesn't even begin to describe it."

"I would not have put it so," Lord Stark said back. "But you are correct. Victory is no reason for watchers being lax in their duties."

Rounding a building, the two men and their escort found themselves before a small castle. Although again, to call it a castle was being generous. The building was little more than a stone mansion that had a wooden palisade surrounding it. "King Robert will be in there." Lord Stark stated, turning towards Nox. "I'll go and announce our arrival. Try not to get into trouble."

"You wound me, Lord Stark," Nox replied almost mockingly. "I don't get into trouble. Trouble just has a habit of finding me wherever I go."

Stark snorted in mild amusement. "I'll believe that when I see it. Jory, stay with him. Ser Rodrik, you're with me."

"Yes, my lord," Ser Rodrik and Jory said at the same time before the elder marched to follow his liege Lord.

Once the two men were beyond the palisade, Nox turned on his heel and marched back into town. He'd sensed something the moment they docked, and he was not about to let what he sensed continue any longer. Not while he was around. "Gods, Master Nox, slow down!" Jory called out to him as the younger man had to nearly jog to keep up with him. "Where are you going in such a hurry? The battle for the town is long over."

"The battle may be over," Nox replied. "But the fighting has not yet ceased."

Coming to the outskirts of town, the two men found themselves staring at a larger house just beyond the border of the town near the shoreline. Standing just outside the house were two men dressed in leather armor and armed with one-handed swords that were hanging off their waists. Both men were filled with…glee and pride. And complete lack of caring for what was going on behind them, save that they wanted a chance themselves. He didn't need to reach out with the Force to know that this house was the source of the disturbance he'd felt. "Jory, you might want to go and fetch Lord Stark."

The young captain looked first at Nox and then towards the house in the distance. "Those are Westerland men…Master Nox…what are you—?"

"You'd best run, Jory," Nox remarked as he began marching towards the house. "Lord Stark will want to know that I'm about to start some trouble."

To his credit, Jory didn't hesitate. The moment Nox had finished speaking, the young captain was already making for the small castle as fast as his legs could carry him.

As he got closer to the house, he could hear them. A pair of cries and screams for mercy coming from within the house. '_Civilized __society,__ my __ass,_' Nox growled as he let the dark side fuel him as he marched closer and closer to the house. The two men standing outside remained completely oblivious to his presence until he was almost right on top of them. And even then, the only reason they noticed him was because they both shivered as Nox extended his presence outwards.

"H – Halt," one of the men said nervously as Nox continued to channel more and more of the dark side into himself and forcing his presence outwards to the point where both men were visibly shaking. "W – Who are you a–and why ar—?"

He didn't give the man the chance to finish. The moment he reached them, he lashed out with his right fist, burying it into the man's diaphragm. This forced all the air out of his lungs and made him collapse in a heap on the ground. The second guard managed to only get an inch of steel pulled from his sheath before Nox's right hook caught the man in the jaw. Like his counterpart, the man went down in a heap as he cradled his more than likely broken jaw, leaving Nox with no opposition.

Stepping up to the door, he raised his foot and kicked out. The door didn't just give way. No, the force of his kick sent tore the door clean off its hinges and flung it clear across the small room beyond. For just a split second, Nox stared at what he'd done with more than a hint of embarrassed surprise. '_Okay…maybe a little too much anger there_.'

Stepping into the house, Nox surveilled the scene beyond in a split second. And his anger reached a level he'd not felt in a long, long time. There were four men in the room. One was dead and three were without pants. One man was holding an older woman face down while a second was thrusting into her from behind. And the third, their leader judging by the better armor he was wearing, was forcing himself upon a girl who looked as if she had just entered her teenage years, if that.

"What the fuck?!" the man who'd been forcing himself up the young girl yelled. His pig-like face contorted into a snarl, but he kept going at the girl. "If you want a fucking turn, then you'll have to fucking wait."

Nox crossed the expanse in the time it took most to blink. Grabbing a fistful of the man's armor, the steel folding in on itself within his grip, Nox turned and hurled the man through the wall of the house, creating a man-sized hole in the wall. The other two men started to scramble for their weapons, the older woman laying forgotten in a pile of her own tears. Lashing out with his foot, Nox caught the first in the jaw and the second in the gut, putting both men down. Grabbing a leg of each man in each hand, Nox dragged the two offenders to the entrance and threw them both on top of their Lording leader who'd yet to right himself.

Turning his back on the five groaning men outside, Nox took in the sight of the two women before him. The older woman had managed to recover enough to cross the room to the younger girl and had wrapped her up in her arms, her modesty completely forgotten as she laid bare before him.

Nox took a half step towards the two women, but then stopped as the young girl started crying again the older woman flinched at his presence. Squatting down slowly, Nox picked up one of the discarded red cloaks on the floor and tossed it over to the older woman. "Cover yourselves. But stay close to me. I'm not done yet."

Turning on his heel, Nox marched out of the house. Just outside, the three pants-less men and two still fully clothed men had managed to get back to their feet. Predictably, all were now sporting bruises and cuts from where he'd hit them.

"You…You fucking idiot!" the leader screamed at him. "Do you have any fucking idea who I am? I am—!"

"A dead man," Nox monotoned, cutting the Lord off mid-rant. "A naked dead man with incredible small cock at that."

The pig-faced man went completely red faced. "Give me a fucking sword! I'm cutting this fucker down right here and no—!"

"What the fuck is going on here?"

The five men in red armor all immediately dropped to their knees, but Nox remained standing as a group of ten men approached. He could make out Lord Stark near the front, but the man in the lead made Nox nearly scoff. His first impression of the King of Westeros's presence was not encouraging. '_This…This is King Robert? The man is rage, __pride,__ and lust that is barely able to be contained. He's nothing more than a berserker. A blunt instrument you point at your enemies and then stand aside and let him kill them and himself to save yourself the trouble of having to do it __later… And he's__ drunk. Wonderful_.' Just as he was about to dismiss the party for the moment, he sensed it and refocused his attention back in on the group. One of the men was a balding redhaired man that was a few paces behind the King, and he was Force sensitive. Not only that, but he'd had formal training. Admittedly, rather poor formal training, but nonetheless it was training.

Once they were close enough, King Robert took his time staring at Nox before giving a passing glance towards the five kneeling men. "For fuck's sake, Lorch, get some gods damned pants on. No one wants to see that pathetic excuse for a cock you have."

"Yes, your grace," the newly named Lorch mumbled, scrambling to his feet and back away with the others in search of clothes.

"Don't go too far," Nox called out, making the five men hesitate. "We are not finished yet."

"Not finished yet?" King Robert mimicked him, taking a step towards him. "And who exactly are you? And what isn't finished yet?"

"Your grace," Lord Stark stated, stepping forward beside Robert. "This is Master Alim Nox. A foreign wanderer from beyond Essos who entered my service after aiding House Stark by saving the life of my bastard son over a month ago."

"Alim Nox?" King Robert questioned, looking back and forth between Lord Stark and Nox. "What a strange fucking name. But a friend of Ned's is a friend of mine. But regardless of that, foreigner, you stand before a King. Remove your helm and show me your face. Unless you're as ugly as the Hound here, then keep it on."

Deciding that it simply wasn't worth the effort to argue, Nox lowered his hood and removed his mask from his face. The instant his face was revealed, harsh whispers broke out amongst the crowd as anger and confusion spiked throughout the crowd. The most prominent of sensations belong to the King of Westeros, whose anger and rage almost threatened to boil over. And for once, it wasn't because of the black cloth that he had wrapped around his eyes. "Silver hair…Ned, what the fuck is the meaning of this?!"

"He may have the look of a Valyrian, your grace, but I guarantee you that he is not a dragon." Lord Stark responded immediately. "And he is no supporter of the dragons either. Do you truly think I would allow him to stay in my hall if he was after what happened?"

The King looked pensive for a moment before shaking his head, "No. You know better than to treat with those sister-fucking dragons."

Nox could feel…something come from a young man that was standing beside the King. Something almost like, amusement mixed with hatred. It was a strange combination and one that he couldn't fully decipher.

"Aye, that I do," Ned said simply, but again Nox could pick up on something coming from the Lord of Winterfell. Something almost like…shame. Stark had become increasingly skilled in hiding his emotions from him ever since he'd stopped holding back his Force potential, but every now and then Nox could still pick up on the overwhelming feeling of shame. Usually when he was staring at young Jon. '_You have your secrets, Lord Stark. But no secret is safe from me_.'

"So, tell me," Robert cut back to him. "Why the fuck are you wearing that shit around your eyes? You blind or something?"

Smirking, Nox reached up and untied the cloth, revealing his scars and unseeing eyes. "Yes, I am."

One of Roberts eyebrows rose before he let out a loud laugh. "Ha! Fucking blind and he still handed five of your men their asses, Tywin!"

"Perhaps, your grace," an older man that was bursting with pride stated, stepping forth. "We should focus on just why this man felt it prudent to attack my men."

'_Ah, this would be Tywin Lannister_.' Of all the Lords in Westeros, the old Lion was the one he'd wanted to meet the most. Mostly because he wanted to see the man that he considered to be more Sith than anyone else. '_Interesting. While he is mildly aggravated at someone assaulting his men, he seems more aggravated with the fact that his men not only let it happen, but that they were caught in while doing something unbecoming as well_.'

"What?" Robert questioned, clearly confused for a moment before remembering what it was that'd brought him here. "Oh, right. Well? What do you have to say for yourself, foreigner?"

Looking over his shoulder, Nox motioned for the two women to come out. Muttering broke out as the mother and daughter, still dropped in red cloaks, cautiously stepped out of the house. Their eyes were fixed firmly on the ground as the mother kept a firm hold on her daughter.

"Simple," Nox replied. "I was stopping crime from being committed. Unless I am mistaken, rape is still a crime, is it not?"

"It is," a voice sounded immediately, sounding much like the king's only, stricter and more rigid. "As is striking a Lord of Westeros. The penalty for which is ten lashings to the back."

'_This must be the King's brother. Their auras are familiar enough. However, where the king is __relaxed,__ this man…__Hell__, he could make a Jedi seem lenient_.' "The day that I take lashings for stopping a rapist, regardless of his station, is the day that you can kiss your own ass."

He could sense the King's brother tense, but the King just laughed again, as did several of the men around them. "Fucking hells, Ned. I like this man! No wonder you brought him into your home. And Stannis, fucking shut it. This man has the right of it."

The newly named Stannis remained stoic, even though Nox could sense the brewing storm beneath the surface. '_If there was ever a man who needed to get laid, it's him. Although, judging by his brother's character, he probably spends most of his time running around trying to clean up his brother's mess_.'

"Regardless," Stannis growled. "If he is to cite the law as precedence for his actions, then he too must abide by it."

"Lord Stannis is correct in this matter, your grace," Lord Tywin cut in, although Nox could detect the slight note of distaste in his voice at having to address the King with such deference. "My men committed a heinous act and should be reprimanded, but this man committed a similar act by striking a Lord when he holds no title. At least not one that is recognized by the Crown."

Nox nearly laughed at the somewhat obvious ploy in Tywin's scheme. He didn't give two shits that his men were raping a mother and her daughter. He could sense that much. But Tywin was obviously interested in him and wanted to see what he would do once backed into a corner. '_Well, if he wants a __show,__ then __I'll be__ glad to give it __to__ him. Besides, it'll be a good way to work off some pent-up energy thanks to that excruciating boat ride. Honestly, I think I need to put in proper propellent systems for ships onto my list of things to help Westeros 'invent'_.'

"It seems that we are at an impasse then, your grace," Nox shrugged as the King looked back and forth between Lord Tywin and himself. "So, I propose a solution. Two parties have committed a wrong, although neither side will admit to such. So, let us solve this amongst ourselves: a Trial by Combat. Myself against those five."

He could see Lord Stark sag in defeat, while Lord Tywin's curiosity began spiked once more. And the King, the King almost looked…giddy. "A Trial by Combat, eh?" Robert asked before chuckling. "I got to admit, you have balls, blindman. You do know that per Westeros Law, a Trial by Combat has only one outcome. Death. Are you really willing to take on those odds for those two?"

Turning his head so that it seemed he was looking behind him, Nox watched as the mother and daughter, both still trembling and fear after the ordeal they suffered, looked on with a sudden hope. "Yes, I am," Nox replied simply, turning back to the King.

Robert's grin was nearly wide enough to split his face in two. "Ha! I love that fucking confidence blindman. Tywin, get those fuckers over here! They have a Trial to participate in!"

Tywin gave a curt nodded and left to go retrieve his men while the other Lords and soldiers backed away to create a ring around Nox. All save for Lord Stark. Instead of backing away with the rest, the Warden of the North approached Nox, his anger barely held in check.

"Nox," Stark hissed lowly so that only the two of them could hear. "I thought I told you not to make any trouble!"

Shrugging, Nox rolled his shoulders and twisted to loosen the muscles in his back. "And I told you, Lord Stark, that trouble usually has a way of finding me."

Lord Stark's frustration mounted as he turned and cast a glance towards the King. "I haven't told Robert or the other Lords about your…abilities yet."

"Good," Nox smirked slightly more broadly when he felt Ned's confusion spike momentarily. "Then they won't be ready for it then."

Groaning, Stark pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Nox, why are you doing this, truly? Is this someway of making your mark on Westeros and the other Lords? To show off what you can do? Tell me now or I will end this farce here and now."

Dropping his good mood, Nox met the stern look of the Warden of the North with one of his own. "I told you before we left Winterfell, Lord Stark, that I can tolerate a lot. But there is one thing I cannot tolerate. And that is rape of any form. I warned you of what I would do should I discover anyone committing such a vile act. Did you think that my words were in jest?"

Scanning the crowd, he could feel the resignation set in within Stark. "Just…don't do anything too…"

"Flashy?" Nox asked, regaining some of his good humor, especially at the prospect of killing rapists. One of his favorite pastimes. "Don't worry Lord Stark. I could end these five with both arms tied behind my back and my legs bound together. I won't need to do anything fanciful to end this."

"Good," Stark nodded as he turned to depart, only to stop after taking a single step. "And between us. I approve of what you're doing. That man, Lorch…He has had this coming for a long time. But I was powerless to see it happen. So, while I chastise you for doing this, in the same breath I thank you for those who can no longer speak."

There was no need for Stark to elaborate further, Nox knew exactly what he was talking about. The death of Elia Martel and her two children at the end of the Rebellion at the hands of Lorch and another named Gregor Clegane. Once Lord Stark was safely out of the circle of men, Nox stepped into the center and waited as Lord Lannister reappeared with his five men in tow. '_Well then…let the fun begin_.'

* * *

Making his way out of the makeshift ring that'd been formed just outside of Lordsport, Ned took his place beside Robert just as Lord Tywin returned with Ser Lorch and the other five men. Part of Ned, a part that he fought to keep buried, was a little jealous at what was about to happen. Nox was about to dispense a long overdue justice. A justice Ned had wanted to have a hand in for years.

"Well, Ned, sorry that you're going to be losing a man sworn to yourself so soon." Robert sighed as he took a swig from an ale horn. '_When did he get that? He'd __downed__ two before coming out here. And now he has a __third?_'

"Lord Stark won't be losing anyone, your grace." Looking to his side, Ned spotted the man who'd just spoke. Like the king, he too held a horn of ale, but that was where the similarities ended. The man was tall like Robert, but he was mostly bald and had a rough red beard that was dripping with wine. But what was more interesting was the fact that none of the Kingsguard were preventing his approach. A new drinking friend more than likely.

"Ah, Thoros, your red god tell you that Nox is going to win in some fire vision, or whatever shit you believe in?"

"No," Thoros shrugged, taking a long drink. "I can…sense it. There is something about him. Something that I haven't felt in a long, long time. He will win. In fact, I'll put twenty dragons on him."

"Ha! You're on!" Robert laughed, clapping the man on the back. "In fact, I'll even through in a bottle of Arbor Gold as well."

'_This isn't a fucking __game,Robert__,_' Ned wanted to curse his friend, but he held his tongue. It wouldn't matter what he said. His friend would do as he pleased. Always had and always would.

After Lorch and the other five Lannister men arrived in the center of the ring, Lord Lannister left the men and made his way to stand near the King. '_They managed to get ready fast_,' Ned thought, observing the six men, all of whom had donned boiled leather armor save for Ser Lorch who was dressed in full plate steel. '_Not that any of it will matter much. If Nox draws his lightsaber, this battle will be over before it can begin_.'

"Well, let's get started." Robert announced loudly, taking a step into the ring. "I, King Robert first of his name do hereby proclaim this Trial by Combat for the crimes of rape and assaulting a Lord of the Westeros and – ah fuck it. You all know the rest. Get going before I piss myself already!"

* * *

Upon the King's command, Nox reaffixed his mask while the five Westerland men all drew their swords. Nox had to give the men credit, they were not idle during their brief departure. All five were fully dressed once again. Four of the men were wearing what looked like boiled leather with bits of steel woven in to reinforce vital points on their body and each were wearing a steel helm. Lorch on the other hand, was fully dressed in plate steel armor and was wearing a helm that was looked to have been fashioned after some sort of creature that looked to be a cross between a lion and a bat.

But before anyone could move, Nox held up his hand. "If you permit it, your grace, I wish to ask two things."

The King grumbled, displeased that they hadn't started killing each other yet, but nodded his consent.

"Thank you," Nox nodded, making to face the Lord of the Westerland. "Firstly, Lord Lannister, I apologize for the loss of your men. But I will not suffer rapist to walk free, no matter their status or the colors they wear. And the second, is to ask if you men have any last words you wish to speak. Or if any of you wish to take the Black, this is your last opportunity to do so." The five Westerland men seemed taken aback for a moment. But then Ser Lorch began to laugh, a full gut laugh that prompted the other men to start laughing as well.

"Last words!? Take the Black?" Ser Lorch laughed. "That's fucking rich coming for you, blindman! The Trial hasn't even started yet! And you're outnumbered five to fucking one! And you don't even have a fucking weapon on you! But if you want last words then how about this? Once I kill you, I'm taking your fucking helm and hanging it on my wall!"

Rolling his neck, Nox let his anger run through him as the dark side of the Force permeated his being. "I am afraid you are mistaken." Nox growled, the dark side tainting his voice even more than his helm did, while around him the men nearest to him began to shiver slightly as they felt the residual effects of the dark side. "This is no trial. This is your execution."

"Like fuck it is!" the man closest to Nox screamed before he raised his sword and charged at him, looking to cleave him in half with an overhead swing.

At the last moment, Nox stepped almost casually to the side, letting the sword fall past him. Using the Force to augment his speed, Nox moved faster than most could follow. Before the man could recover from his wild swing, Nox kicked out with his right foot onto the side of the fool's knee. The tendons and ligaments snapped beneath the force of the blow and made the man scream in agony as his knee gave way and brining him to the ground. Then, before the man could scream a second time, Nox reached out with both hands and took a firm hold of his chin in one hand and the back of his head in the other. Then, with a quick jerk, he snapped the man's neck with enough force to actually turn his head around backwards.

"That's one," Nox drawled, letting go of the man as he fell to the ground, dead.

The four remaining Westerland men had gone stiff as a board, as did most of the assembled crowed, as they all stared at the corpse at Nox's feet. Nox could feel the fear emanating from the four men remaining, as well as the awe, fear, and curiosity that was pouring out from the crowd.

"Well?" Nox asked, beckoning the remaining men forward with his right hand. "Are we going to fight? Or you lot just going to lay down and die?"

His words snapped the remaining four men out of their stupor as they all started approaching him far more cautiously than the last fool. Stepping forward, Nox remained completely passive as the four men separated and slowly began surrounding him. Once he was surrounded, Nox turned in a slow circle so that he could face each man one by one.

"What are you all waiting for? An engraved invitation?" he asked mockingly, holding out his arms to the side.

The man to his back struck first, no doubt hoping to catch him by surprise, his blade aiming for his neck. But instead, all it found was air as Nox calmly ducked under the swing and back peddled. Once behind the man, he grabbed him by the back of his armor near his neck and physically moved him to his right. And put him right in the path of Ser Lorch's blade, which pierced through the man's leather armor and sunk into his heart. Kicking sideways, Nox put his foot into the back of the dying man and forced him into Lorch, putting both to the ground.

Twisting his body sideways, Nox evaded the thrust from another Westerland man. Spinning in a tight circle, Nox lashed out with his hand, his fingers curled slightly which allowed him to extend the claws on his gauntlets. The claws dug into the soft flesh of the man's throat up to Nox's third knuckle. Curling his fingers, Nox ripped his hand out, taking the man's larynx with him. Still holding onto the bloody piece, Nox calmly sidestepped as the man fell forward, clutching at his ruined throat. As the man fell, he reached out and ripped the cloak off the man's back. "Two and three."

Dropping the larynx, Nox started calmly wiping the blood off his right hand as he faced the last remaining foot solider. The man was positively shaking where he stood. And the wet spot in the man's pants gave testament to just how scared he was. Not the mention the smell that was emanating off him indicating he'd soiled himself in both manners. '_Unbelievable_.' "Well," Nox sighed, checking his hand over. "We going to fight or what?"

The man stood stock still for a long moment before he made a move. And that move was to turn tail and run as fast as he could away from Nox. Shaking his head, Nox slipped his foot underneath one of the fallen men's swords and kicked it up into the air. With a single motion, Nox turned, caught the sword by the hilt and then sent it end over end, chasing after the fleeing man as the surrounding ring parted around him. The man let out a single gurgled scream as he clutched at his ruined throat when the blade buried itself into the back of his neck and exited the front.

Turning his back on the dying man, Nox faced off against Lorch, who'd only just now managed to regain his footing and was holding his sword in a middle guard across his body. "And that's four. Now, it is finally one-on-one, Ser Armory Lorch."

He could practically smell the terror that was coming off the man. His legs were quivering, and the tip of his sword was wavering ever so slightly as he stood before him. Lorch's beady eyes flickered from one corpse to the other before coming to a rest on Nox. "You think I'm scared of you, fucker?! You think the fact that you killed these men makes you better than me! You're not!"

Shaking his head, Nox folded his hands behind his back, completely at ease even though he and this man were in a fight to the death. "Bravado. Pure bravado. You can shout all you want, but you and I know the truth. You're scared shitless. So much so, that you can barely even keep your blade steady."

Growling, Lorch reaffixed his grip on his sword, some of his shaking leaving him. "Believe what you want! But I've killed men far greater than you!"

"No, you haven't," Nox nearly laughed. "But I will forgive your lack of understanding. You see, you were raised with a very narrow-minded view of power. You think that your name gives you power. Or perhaps it is your muscles, or your high-quality armor, or you castle-forged sword, or even your skill with said sword. Or perhaps you believe that gold holds true power. While many believe these things define power, they are not my definition of power."

Turning his body slightly with his right foot forward, he regarded his opponent. "Come, I will educate you on my definition of power."

He didn't have to wait long. His words had riled Lorch up to the point where most rational thought had left his mind, not that there was much there to begin with. Bellowing out a vicious cry, Lorch charged Nox with his sword held high, ready to cut Nox in two. Despite his cry and charge, Nox didn't move. When less than five paces separated the two, Lorch's eyes narrowed as Nox held his ground, his hands still behind his back. With less than two paces between them, Lorch brought his sword down in a vicious arc. Yet still, Nox kept his hands behind his back. Only when the blade was within arm's length did Nox move. His left hand snapping out from around his back and reaching out.

Lorch's eyes widened as his movements were brought to an abrupt stop. Around the ring, every man and the few women present looked on with wide eyes at the impossible feat they were watching. Nox, still standing calmly, had his left hand outstretched. And in his hand, pinched between his fingers and thumb, was the edge of Lorch's sword.

"Pathetic." Nox growled, wrenching the blade to the side before backhanding Lorch across the chest with his right hand with enough force to throw the armored man onto his back ten feet away from Nox.

"Do you see know?" Nox asked as Lorch stared up at him from his spot on the ground, a hand sized dent in the chest of his armor from where Nox struck him. "The difference between us stems from our definitions of power. And you can never even dream of reaching my level. This fight is over. So, do us both a favor and fall on your sword already. I really don't feel like expending the energy it would take to end your life. It's like asking the King to throw out a shit bucket."

Shaking his head, Lorch rolled back onto his feet, his sword held firmly before him. "Fuck you, you foreign bastard! I'm not fucking dead yet! I'm going to fucking gut you just like I did that little dragon whore!"

Sighing, Nox shook his head. "Well, so much for mercy." He muttered, letting the dark side fill him.

Letting out another war cry, Lorch charged again, this time his sword held level with the ground, aimed right for Nox's chest. When he'd managed to cross half the distance Nox raised his hand and reached out with the Force, grabbing and holding Lorch frozen mid-step. Dozens of voices most of them being southern called out in surprise at Nox's almost casual display of magic. The air around them became saturated in emotion as some men even dropped to their knees and began muttering prays asking for safety. Even the king seemed surprised, his eyes widened, and his jaw lowered. Only three men maintained their calm. Lord Stark, Lord Stannis Baratheon and Lord Lannister.

"As I said," Nox remarked, taking a step forward, his hand still outstretched as he ignored the mutterings going on around him. "The difference between us is one that you could never hope to cross. I had planned on granting you a quick death, but not anymore. No. I think you're going to have to suffer a bit first before I allow you to die."

Stepping up so the two were almost face to face, Nox held up his open hand and slowly began to close his fist. At first, nothing seemed to be happening. But then Lorch's eyes twitched and he grunted. His armor on his body began to dent as Nox applied more and more pressure onto the would-be knight. Lorch held on for a time, but soon enough he couldn't hide what was happening as his own armor began crushing him. A loud snap was echoed with Lorch's cry of agony as the man collapsed when the bones in his legs all broke nearly simultaneously.

"Lord…Tywin!" Lorch cried, spitting blood from his mouth as he desperately searched for his liege Lord as his armor constricted around him, crushing him to death. "Help…me!"

Despite the cry, the Lord of the Westerlands merely watched on as his man was slowly crushed to death before his eyes by a seemingly invisible force being controlled by Nox. But unlike most, who were staring at Nox in horror, Tywin seemed, contemplative. "The gods have spoken, Ser Lorch." Lord Lannister called out over the cries of his bannerman. "And you have been found guilty. May you find peace with the gods."

Betrayal. Fear. Anguish. All passed through Lorch as he stared at his liege Lord while his armor crushed him. "Lord Tywin!" Lorch screamed as his ribs began grinding against one another before breaking. "Mercy!"

"Enough!" A loud clear voice cut through the cries of Lorch, making everyone turn towards its source.

Lord Stark was standing just before the king, a look of anger on his face as he stared down Lorch and then up towards Nox. "The gods have decreed, Nox. The trial is over. End it."

'_Soft hearted_,' Nox sighed. '_He hasn't yet come to realize that sometimes a statement needs to be made'_ "As you wish, Lord Stark," Nox nodded, releasing Lorch.

What was left of the knight collapsed to the ground, blood running freely down his mouth as he moaned in agony. Reaching into the folds of his robe, Nox pulled out his lightsaber. A snap-hiss sounded through the ring as all the gathered southern men save for Lord Stark and Lannister involuntarily took a step back in response to the sudden appearance of Nox's lightsaber. Stepping forward, Nox made two quick slashes. The first separated Lorch's hands from his arms. And the second separated his head from his neck.

Deactivating his lightsaber, Nox used the Force to pick up the severed hands, followed by the summoning of a cloak to wrap the hands in. Once they were secured, he walked purposefully over to Lord Stark. Once he was standing before the Warden of the North, he held out the cloak covered hands. "We'll need to eventually establish trade dealings with Dorne to make some of our projects come to fruition. Try offering them the hands of the man that brutally murdered Rhaenys Targaryen."

Stark looked less than pleased, but the logical side of his mind eventually won out and he nodded, taking the hands from Nox.

Turning his back on the Warden of the North, Nox made his way back to the center of the ring. Once he was standing over the dead bodies of Lorch and his men, he raised his voice and addressed the assembled crowd. "My name is Alim Nox. I am a Lord of the Sith and current resident and servant of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. And as you can all clearly see, I am a sorcerer of no small talent. There is much that I can and will tolerate, but rape will never be among them. So, keep what you've seen here today in the forefront of your minds. Because if your dicks jump out of your pants and into an unwilling participant, then you had best pray to whatever gods you follow that you reach the safety of Castle Black before I reach you. Because I can assure you all, that I will not be this merciful again."

His piece said, Nox purposefully turned his back on the corpses and made his way towards where he knew the Northerners were planning on setting up their camp.


	5. Greyjoy Rebellion Part 2

**Hey everyone, I'm back, finally. Firstly, want I want to thank everyone who has followed, favorited and/or reviewed this story so far. Your support truly helps me get on with my writing, even when I have little to no free time to speak off. On that note, I do want to state that I unfortunately will probably only be updating once a month or so from here on out. Mostly, setting this guideline so I don't stress myself out too much. So please, be patient. If I happen to get a hit of inspiration, perhaps we can see two chapters a month, but for now just plan on the one a month. Also, I used to do this all the time in the past, but recently I haven't had the time. But I plan on paying much more attention to the reviews received, so feel free to ask questions or offer suggestions and I will try and respond in a timely manner.**

**And a huge shout out to my brainstorm partner/beta reader for this story, Tellemicus Sundance. Thank you for all your help on this and the quick turnaround time.**

**Lastly, standard disclaimer; I do not own Game of Thrones, A Song of Fire and Ice nor Star Wars.**

**Hope that you all enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Following his friend, brother in all but blood, and King back to the main keep of Lordsport, Ned was internally preparing himself for the discussion that was about to transpire. He knew that Nox was going to be the main talking point for days, perhaps even months to come. And he doubted that such conversations with Robert would be pleasant, and it all stemmed around one aspect of Nox. And amusingly enough, it wasn't his magic that put Robert off of the man. Nor was it his brutal method of executions.

Without saying a word, Robert led Ned and Stannis through the small keep and into the solar that'd been provided for the King. With barely a word to Ser Selmy, Robert threw open the doors of the solar and marched in. The moment Ned and Stannis crossed over the threshold, the Kingsguard quickly shut the doors behind them, leaving Ned and Stannis alone with the more than slightly irate King.

"Alright, Ned," Robert growled, turning towards Ned. "What in all fucking seven hells was that?"

"A Trial by Combat, your grace," Ned answered back, keeping himself calm before Robert. He'd weathered his friend's rages often enough during their time under Jon Arryn, so he knew how to deal with his friend when he was in such a state. "A Trial that should've happened years ago after the Targaryen's fell."

Robert scoffed before turning on his heel and marching to a nearby pitcher. He didn't even bother to grab a cup as he started to drink heavily from the pitcher itself. "That was no fucking trial, Ned. You know it and I know it. It was a fucking execution. But that isn't what I want meant and you know it! What I want to know is why the fuck you have a Valyrian dragon-loving fucking sorcerer amongst your people!"

Holding himself upright, Ned kept himself composed. "He is not a Valyrian, your grace, despite his looks. He's told me much of his people, and they are unlike any civilization I have ever heard of. And despite his looks, there is no doubt in my mind that there is not a drop of Valyrian blood running through his veins."

"Is it not possible, Lord Stark, that he has merely sold you on a mummer's tale?" Lord Stannis asked, not with anger like his brother, but with cool indifference.

"Unlikely," Ned answered. "The amount of detail he's gone into far surpasses any mummer's tale that could be spun."

Growling, Robert threw himself into the chair in the center of the room. "Fine. If he isn't a fucking sister loving dragonspawn, then where the fuck is he from?"

At this, Ned just barely managed to hold in a wince. "Honestly, I do not know, your grace. The land and culture he described as his people are unlike anything I have ever heard of before. It is more than likely that he is from Sothoryos or perhaps even beyond the lands of Asshai. But wherever he hails from seems to matter not to him as he has no intent of ever returning."

Upending the rest of the pitcher, Robert let out a loud belch. "Because he can't return or because he doesn't want too?"

"The latter," Ned answered immediately before elaborating. "Before he left, he had a wife, for lack of better terms I suppose. She was killed by a rival of his within their leadership. After she died, he wanted nothing more to do with them. So, he left. And ended up in the North."

"A likely tale, Lord Stark," Stannis stated, doubt still in his voice. "But again, I must ask. How do you know that this is not a mummer of some kind?"

"Because there was no mistaking the pain in his voice when he spoke of her," Ned answered back immediately, meeting Stannis's challenging look with one of his own. "Her death may not be the only reason why he has decided he wishes not to return to his homeland. But it is one of the primary driving forces."

"Any chance that others from his homeland will come to our shores eventually?" Stannis followed up. "If there are more like him, then the might of the Seven Kingdoms might not be enough to hold them back."

"Truthfully, I do not know," Ned answered honestly. "But as we have not even heard of his people before, if they do mean to grace our shores, it might not be for a long time. Time which we can use to prepare to potentially face those like Nox."

"What in the seven hells do you mean by that, Ned?" Robert asked, a gleam of light entering his eyes. The same gleam that always appeared whenever a prospective fight was presented to him.

"I mean that we can learn from Nox. Learn to do what he can do." Ned elaborated further.

Leaning back, Robert scratched at his lengthening beard. "You think he'll go for it? Teaching others to do what the hell he can? Right now, he seems to be at an advantage over all of us. It would seem silly for him to give up such an advantage by risking teaching others how to use the same magic as he."

"He already has started," Ned answered, taking a breath to steady himself before continuing onwards. "But before I say more, I need an oath from you, your grace. And you as well, Lord Stannis. That what I say next will not leave us. I have a plan in place, but I want as few people to know about it as possible until the time is right."

Robert looked confused, but still nodded. "Alright, you got my oath, Stannis as well. Now talk. What in the seven hells is your plan?"

Breathing in and out, Ned took his time to answer. "Nox, has already offered to train certain individuals in the usage of his powers. But it is not as simple as you might think. Not everyone can learn how to use this power. They have to be born with the ability to use what Nox calls 'the Force' before he can teach them. And he has a stipulation that those who can train must start early, when they are still children. He says that it is because the mind of a child is easier to mold into being able to utilize his unique type of magic."

"And Nox has located said individuals?" Stannis asked, before his eyes narrowed. "And they are in Winterfell, are they not?"

"They are," Ned answered. "Nox has determined that both of my sons, my heir and my bastard, are capable of learning to use the same magic as he."

For a moment, Robert stared at him in silence as the weight of his words settled. But once they did, instead of asking questions, Robert merely threw his head back and laughed, a belly-rumbling, rafter-rattling laugh. "_Hahahaha!_ That's fucking hilarious, Ned! The blood of the First Men certainly run strong in the Starks, don't they?! Ha! If only…If only my love was still with us. She would've given me a son that could learn this magic as well! A son I could be proud of…instead of the spoiled little shit I have now."

Not wanting to push into that topic, Ned pressed on. "When I return to Winterfell, I intend to grant Nox's request to take my bastard on as his 'apprentice', as he called it. Robb will attend lessons with Nox as well. But after listening to the outline Nox gave of the training required, I fear that Robb will be unable to have the time necessarily for full training."

"Why?" Stannis pressed, while Robert merely motioned for him to continue.

"From what Nox has told me, being a…Sith as he called himself, is a lifelong dedication. And not something for the faint of heart. While I have no doubt that Robb would be able to complete such training, there is a good possibility that the training may take the boys away from Winterfell for extended periods of time. And as my heir, Robb does not have that luxury when he must learn how to follow in my footsteps as the future Warden of the North."

"And what of your bastard son?" Stannis asked, his eyes narrowing. "What is to stop him from coveting his brother's position as Warden of the North?"

There was no accusation in Stannis's voice, rather his question seemed to be out of curiosity than genuine concern. "Because I am raising Robb and Jon as if they were trueborn brothers," Ned answered. "Jon loves his trueborn siblings, and I am encouraging such relations. And more importantly, even at a young age he understands his place as a bastard. I am confident that should it come to it, Jon will choose his family over Nox or someone else."

Throwing his head back, Robert let out another belly-rumbling laugh. "_Haha!_ Fucking seven hells Ned! When did you get so devious? Having Nox train a potential weapon to use against himself or his people should they attack us! _Ha!_ Hells, Ned, that's _brilliant!"_

'_I was forced to become this deviant when I was forced to hide my sister's trueborn son and the rightful king of Westeros from your rage and Tywin Lannister's ambition_,' Ned through as Robert rose to his feet.

"Alright, Ned, you've convinced me. I'll leave Nox in your hands and we'll keep quiet about your son and bastard for now. But, Ned, I want that fucker watched. I might like him…but he's far too fucking Valyrian looking for me to be able to trust fully. At the slightest hint of treachery, I want his head on a fucking pike."

"As you wish, your grace."

* * *

Walking into his tent with his brother Kevan and his loyal bannerman Gregor Clegane behind him, Tywin Lannister uttered not a single word as he walked towards the small chest at the back. Opening the lid, he pulled out a single bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. He wasn't like his son, Tyrion. He rarely indulged in wine simply because he could. But after what he'd just witnessed, a glass of wine was warranted.

"Give me the word, my Lord. And I will crush that bastard's head with my bare hands."

Tywin just barely managed to keep himself from scoffing. It would not due for the Head of House Lannister to scoff so openly in front of his bannermen, even when confronted with such stupidity. Clegane was an excellent killer, a monster, a rapid dog. One that had no problems with any order if it allowed him to kill. He was useful to keep around, primarily as a warning and an enforcer. But at the same time the lack of brain power made Tywin wonder if he was worth keeping around for the long term. After all, rapid dogs often turned on the hands that fed them.

"You will do no such thing," Tywin answered coolly, fixing Clegane with an even look. "In fact, you will leave this tent now and inform the men sworn to House Lannister that we will be acknowledging this sorcerer's demands during this campaign. Any man who rapes will be presented with two options. Take the Black or face the sorcerer. And before you get ahead of yourself, Clegane, don't. If you rape just for the chance to fight against the sorcerer, I will kill you myself. Understand? I lost one good man already today. I cannot afford to lose you as well. And if you think that you cannot control your urges, then tell me now and I will send you back to the Westerlands on the next ship that sails."

Clegane looked less than pleased by his ultimatum. His gaze one that would make any other man soil himself. But Tywin wasn't any other man. He knew Clegane and knew him well. He knew exactly how to handle the man. One had to be strong and have several contingencies in place just in case the mad dog decided to go off the leash.

"As you wish, my lord," Clegane growled, clearly unhappy with his second favorite pastime being taken from him before turning on his heel and storming out of the tent. No doubt to go and 'train' against a few Ironborn prisoners Tywin kept stowed away for just such an occasion.

Once they were alone, Tywin refilled his glass and then poured a second for his brother before taking his seat. Silently, his brother picked up the offered cup and sat down across from him. "You have words for me, Kevan. I would hear them."

Taking a drink, his brother visibly considered his words carefully before speaking. "Forgive me for saying so, brother, but this is unlike you. You are not one to let a slight like this slide without consequence."

Taking a slight slip, Tywin set his glass down and began to fetch out a quill and ink before looking for a piece of parchment. "Slighting House Lannister was not that man's intent." Tywin responded simply, already seeing what game the sorcerer was playing. "That man was merely looking to send a message. I do not know if he truly cares about rape as he so claims, or if he was just using it as an excuse, but he knew that he would be able to find someone committing rape of some kind within the town. After that, he set it up perfectly in order to legally and brutally kill them in a very public manner that would also allow him to utilize his…magic."

It was almost painful to say the last word. For the entirety of his life, he did not allow himself to believe in such superstitious nonsense. Magic was gone, dead with the last of the dragons. But now…now it had returned. And in a rather violent fashion at that.

Across from him, he could see his brother still trying to put the pieces together. He cared for his brother. He was a loyal man and an excellent battle commander. But he did not have Tywin's head for the Great Game. "I don't follow, brother."

"It wasn't about justice. It was about making a statement." Tywin explained. As much as he hated losing a man like Lorch, one with little morals that was easy to command, he had to applaud this Nox fellow's command of the game. "And his message is that he does not care about our rank or our gold or what we could possibly offer him. He has his own agenda. And if anyone gets in his way, he'll kill them."

Kevan leaned back, absorbing what Tywin had told him. "But what is his agenda?"

"I do not know." And that was the truth of it, and irked Tywin something fierce. He prided himself on knowing everything about his opponents, both on the battlefield and in the Great Game. And now, there was a new skilled player in the game that seemed to be was just as equally skilled on the battlefield. "But one thing is certain. We cannot allow such a man to simply rot away in the cold North. And we cannot allow him to remain under the control of the Starks. His talents would simply go to waste."

Kevan's brow perked up as understanding dawned in his eyes. "That is why you are not seeking repercussions against him for slaying Ser Lorch. You want him as a bannerman of House Lannister instead of House Stark."

"Of course," Tywin answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The man possesses magic. The very thing that helped to create the Valyrian Freehold, aside from dragons. Although stories tell that it was magic itself that first gave birth to the dragons. If such abilities were to come under the control of House Lannister, then our position as the premiere House of Westeros would be unquestioned."

The problem though was just how was he to go about such a task. Marriage was the simplest answer. Well, marriage and a title. Castamere was still empty. And despite it being in ruin, the land was still very viable to whoever could drain the ruins, a task he was sure would be mere child's play for the sorcerer. But even if he had a daughter of House Lannister to offer him, which he did not as those in the main branch were either far too young or near the end of their childbearing years, he didn't know if such an offer would be accepted. He could offer the man Castamere, and Stark could turn around and offer the man the abandoned Moat Cailin in return. No. He couldn't make his offer yet. Not until he knew that he could offer the man something that he would not turn down. Which meant that for now, he needed to gather information. He needed a set of eyes and ears in Winterfell, one that was loyal to House Lannister. And fast. But due to his presence here in the Iron Islands, he could not set up such a person. Which left him with one choice that was fast and easy to arrange, no matter how galling as it was.

"We have the advantage at the moment, in that neither the Queen of Thorns nor Doran Martell nor Jon Arryn know of the sorcerer's existence yet," he stated, finishing up the letter and dusting it before letting the ink dry while pulling out a stick of wax and his House seal. "We must act before they do. Should either gain an insight on how to gain the sorcerer's loyalty, then House Lannister will fall. We cannot let that happen."

Rolling up the letter, he heated the wax in a nearby candle, dripping the hot wax onto the edge of the letter before pressing his seal down upon the red wax. "There is a ship leaving before nightfall that is heading back to Lannisport. You will give this to a man you trust and give him the explicit instructions that he is to deliver that to Tyrion's hand alone."

"Tyrion?" Kevan questioned, surprise evident on his face.

"Yes," Tywin growled, hating having to rely on the little creature. "He may be the lowest of us, but he is still a Lannister. And he claims to have the knowledge to keep it that way. This will be his little test. Should he succeed by the time we return, then perhaps I will start giving him other tasks around the Rock other than managing the shit of the castle. But should he fail, I'll find a worse hole for him than the cisterns of the Rock to throw him into."

"As you wish, brother," Kevan nodded, taking the letter from him. "I know just the man to entrust with this."

"Good," Tywin nodded before waving his brother now. "Now go. I wish to think in peace."

"My lord," Kevan bowed back before making a hasty retreat from the tent, leaving Tywin to think in peace about the new piece that'd just been placed on the game board.

* * *

Sitting in the tent that'd been set up for him, Nox sat cross legged on the floor in a deep state of meditation as he stretched out his senses towards the western end of the island where the keep of Pyke, the stronghold of the Greyjoys, stood. He could sense thousands of souls rushing about the keep doing their best to prepare the defenses while they still had time to do so. But despite his deep state of mediation, he couldn't discern the Greyjoys amongst the mass gathering of individuals. There were some that had a slightly higher than normal presence in the Force, but none were at the level where they could be considered 'Force sensitive'.

The slightest of sensations at the corner of his senses brought him out of his trance as he rose just in time for a Stark guard to duck his head into his tent. "Forgive the intrusion, mi'lord." That was one thing that Nox had been more than pleased with. Ever since his 'duel' with the Lannister men, all the soldiers in the camp had been treating him as if he were a true Lord, even if he didn't technically hold the title in this land. "But your guest is here as you requested."

"Good," Nox nodded. "Show her in and then make yourself and the others around this tent scarce."

"Aye, mi'lord," the solider mumbled, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to leave the tent and see to it that his orders were carried out.

He didn't have to wait long for his 'guest' to arrive as the tent flap was still for but a second before being pulled aside again and letting her in. Through the Force he could tell that the woman was attractive, no doubt the reason why she'd been the target earlier in the day. But that beauty was now marred by a swelling of a fist size bruise on the side of her face. Despite that though, and despite what'd happened to her and her daughter, she held herself with a strength that said that she would not be broken. But under that strength there was something else entirely. A heavy weight in her soul. And a feeling of…reservation yet…acceptance. How curious.

"You asked for me, my lord?"

_'And she has now given herself away.'_ Nox thought to himself as he turned and face the woman proper. "Yes, I did."

He could feel her nervousness, but regardless of how she felt, she kept herself firm. Admirable. "What do you require of me, my lord?"

Kicking open a folding stool, Nox arranged his robes around him and sat down. "I'm not one to beat around the bush, so I'll be blunt and honest. And wish for you to do the same. Now, let's start with your name, your daughter's name, and where you hail from."

The woman hesitated, but not for long. "My name is Bethany and my daughter's name is Hilda, my lord. And we hail from the island of Blacktyde. My family was…poor but they managed to arrange a marriage for me to my husband."

"Hmm, not bad. But still a lie." Nox remarked. "Your accent betrays you, as well as your hatred for the Iron Islands and the man that was your former husband. Your accent, no matter how faint, has betrayed you. You are not from the Iron Islands, nor from the North. If I had to guess, I would say the Riverlands as they are frequently raided by the Ironborn. And you are educated as well, it shows in the way you speak. Which means you are noble born. Not very high nobility or your absence would've been well known, possibly even enough to start this war earlier. A Knightly House sworn to a lesser House. And by your sudden spike of anger towards your family and your bout of nervousness, your family more than likely gave you away as some sort of tribute to prevent a raid on their lands. More than likely without informing you until you were already on the boat and on your way to become a fish or a saltwife. How am I doing so far?"

Bethany stood stock still. Her fear, anger and nerves warring within her tearing away at the wall she'd formed around herself. "I…I –"

"I thought that I said that we will not be beating around the bush with one another," Nox cut her off, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Given what happened today, I will let this slide and we will start again."

Her resolve returning, Bethany nodded. "You are right my Lord. About everything. I was born to small Knightly House sworn to House Frey near the border of the Neck. Years ago, during the reign of the Mad King, a small contingent of Ironborn came to my father's lands and delivered an ultimatum. Give them tribute or be raided. My father didn't have much, but he did have me, a second daughter. So, he gave me to them. By the time I came too, we were halfway to the Iron Islands. By the time we reached the islands…half the crew had had their way with me."

"The past is painful," Nox acknowledged. "But it is what helps shape us into what we are today. But I have not called you here to speak of the past, but rather the future. Your future, and that of your daughter's, to be precise."

The woman's nerves returned ten-fold as she began shifting her weight from foot to foot. "What of our future, my lord?"

Rolling his neck, he took a moment to let her anxiety build before speaking. "You cannot stay here on this island. You know that as well as I. If you did, you and your daughter would more than likely be taken by someone worse than your late husband. Nor do you wish to return to your home as they more than likely believe you to be dead, and even if you did return, they would force you to get rid of your daughter and then your father or brother would turn around and sell you off like a broodmare as nobility often does. You can make a go of it on your own in a new land of course. But with no money nor connections, you'd more than likely end up selling yourself on a street corner or begging just to get by until your true skills can be utilized. And as for I, I am not necessarily one for charity. Not unless it can benefit either myself or my long-term plans in some manner. So, what options do you think you have? Not only for your future, but for your daughter's future as well? And remember, I am not one to offer help unless I can be benefited as well."

With each word, he could feel Bethany sinking slowly into a melancholy state of being. But by the time he was done, despite being in a such state, she had resolve of iron as well. Her hands, shaky though they were, slowly rose to either of her shoulders and began pulling down on her dress, exposing herself to him.

"Stop," he said, his words freezing her in place as surely as if he'd cocooned her in the Force. "Your resolve is commendable, but I am not one to take an unwilling to my bed. Especially one that has had such a traumatic event such as rape happen to them. Perhaps in time such a thing between us could develop, but not today. Selling your body to me is not why I called you here. I'm far more interested in your particular skill set that you've used to keep yourself and your daughter safe on these islands."

Shame burned through the woman, as well as curiosity and a touch of anger at being rejected so as she scrambled to redress herself. "What do you mean, my lord?"

Pointing to a small table near the wall of his tent, Nox drew her attention to the two items upon it. A throwing axe and a familiar small book. "Your husband was, at best, a mediocre smith. Yet Lords from all over the Iron Islands came to him. Not necessarily for the axes, but rather for the delicate runic work that'd been etched onto the surface. Your work. Yours and your daughter's. And then the book: financial summaries, loan amounts, business transactions, all of it written in a delicate hand. Your hand. And most recently, a second set of hands just as delicate, but slower and more deliberate. Your daughter's hand. You're an artist and you've taught your daughter how to read and write. That is what I'm interested in now."

Rising from his stool, he slowly approached the woman. "Lord Stark has given me free reign to improve Winterfell in several different areas as I see fit, as long as such improvements benefit the North. The problem is, I'm only one man. And despite what some may think, I am not all powerful. But with your help, I believe I might be able to continue onwards with some of my more mundane objectives. Work for me, and I promise you safety in the North at Winterfell for not only yourself but your daughter as well. And you will not have to worry about some man deciding to sell you or your daughter off to some random lord or other just so they can benefit. So, those are your options. Return to your home. Go on the run. Or come north and build a new life for your family with my backing."

He didn't need to wait long for an answer as Bethany almost immediately nodded her agreement. A life in Winterfell with his backing and without of fear of either herself or her daughter being sold off again. The offer was far too good not to accept. "I accept your offer, Lord Nox. Tell me what you need of me, and I will do my best not to disappoint you."

"Splendid," Nox nodded, picking up the small journal from the table and giving it back to you. "I've outlined the plans I want you to help me with in here. You will spend the remainder of our time here on the Iron Islands familiarizing yourself with such plans and adding your own details to them. The moment we return to the North, I expect you to begin implementation. Is that agreeable?"

Taking the journal, Bethany immediately nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Good," Nox nodded before motioning her for towards the tent flap. "Oh, there is one more thing. Do you have any of your husband's clothes left?"

* * *

Watching the last of the Mormont men unload from the boat that'd brought them to the Iron Islands, Ned Stark quietly pondered what'd transpired over the past three days. Or, more specifically, he pondered just where Nox had disappeared to the very same night after he killed five of Tywin Lannister's men. The morning after he'd gone to confer with Nox as to the next potential step and was met with an empty tent. Nox had somehow managed to disappear during the night without leaving any note as to where he was going nor had he alerted any guards.

He'd been moments shy of heading to Tywin Lannister and demanding answers before the woman Nox had saved, Bethany, managed to get word to him that she spoke with Nox the night before and that she wished to speak with him. Thankfully, the woman had answers, although far fewer than Ned wanted. Nox had apparently talked to the woman the night before and had made her an offer to stay under his protection and to see her and her daughter back to Winterfell where they could begin a new life, free from the Ironborn.

While Nox offering such a thing without Ned's knowledge or approval did irk him more than slightly, he trusted Nox's judgment. He'd earned that much. But he would still have to talk to the sorcerer about not overstepping his authority in the future. Especially as Ned was about to allow Jon and Robb to begin taking lessons from the man. But besides informing him of the offer from Nox, the woman had little to no explanation about Nox's whereabouts. All she could tell him was that Nox asked for a change of her late husband's clothes, changed into said clothes, and then disappeared into the night with hardly a word nor glance back. It was utterly confusing and more than a little frustrating.

Robert had been just a hair's breadth away from picking up his war hammer and giving chase the moment Ned informed him of Nox's disappearance. He managed to calm his friend, if only momentarily, by telling him that it wasn't uncommon for Nox to disappear for days at time, which was a mild truth as Nox disappeared once or twice during his moon's stay at Winterfell, and that the most likely scenario was that the sorcerer was merely scouting the island. A tale that Ned hoped to the old gods was true. Robert, while interested in Nox for what he could do, was still uncertain about him due to his very Valyrian looks. Ned needed the man to prove himself a valuable asset to his liege despite his looks. And the sooner he did so, the sooner Ned would be able to breathe easier.

But now, now Nox was out of time. He'd been gone for three days and the last of the Northern forces had arrived, which meant that on the morrow they would march for the Pyke and to bring an end to the Greyjoy Rebellion once and for all. "My Lord, are you well?"

Nodding, Ned turned his back on the unloading ships and towards Jorah Mormont. While of a same height as Ned, Jorah lived up to emblem of his house with his stocky build and thick black hair that over most of his body that was visible.

"Aye, just a lot on my mind is all." Ned replied dismissively as he made to move back to the keep in Lordsport. "See to it that your men are set for the night, but don't allow them to become too comfortable. You and yours are the last of our forces to arrive, and I have no doubt that King Robert will be ordering a march first thing on the morrow."

"Aye, my lord." Jorah Mormont nodded, turning back to the disembarking Northmen. "Alright, lads, get your asses moving! Lord Stark wants camp before nightfall! But don't get too comfortable! We've got some krakens to kill in the morning!"

Marching through the town and back into the keep in Lordsport, Ned made his way into the great hall of the keep just in time to watch as the other Lords of note that'd answered Robert's call make their way in as well. Lord Tywin was the first to arrive, with his brother Kevan close on his heels. The Lord of the Westerlands gave him but a passing nod of acknowledgement before taking a seat at the table that'd been set up near the head where the King would be expected to sit. '_Of course, he would take the seat of note_.' Ned thought as he took a seat, leaving room for Stannis to sit next to his brother as protocol dictated he was supposed to. '_He is father to the Queen though, so such a position is his right to take_.'

Next to arrive was Stannis, with a familiar face behind him who looked severely uncomfortable with being there. '_Ser Davos Seaworth_,' Ned recalled the former smuggler as Stannis took his position next to the king's seat while Ser Davos took a place in along the wall, away from the Lords. '_A good man, despite his past. A valuable asset to have during a naval campaign. Stannis was wise to keep him around_.'

Next to walk in was Lord Mace Tyrell, with the true military power of the Reach in Lord Randyll Tarly who was right behind him. The two had not changed much since the last time Ned had seen them, Randyll on the field and Mace ready to accept the Reach's surrender at the end of the Rebellion. Lord Tyrell stopped in the entryway, took one look at the table and frowned heavily before taking a seat down from Kevan Lannister, several places away from the King's seat.

Right behind the two Reach lords was the Lord of Seagard, Lord Jason Mallister. Ned wasn't surprised in the least when he heard that the Lord of Seagard had come personally to deal with the Ironborn. Considering Seagard, along with Lannisport, were two of the first targets in the Greyjoy's initial assault of the mainland. After Lord Mallister, several other lesser Riverland lords made their way in before quickly moving to the side walls. Surprisingly, Lord Mallister was the only true Riverland lord of note to have answered Robert's call. Ned understood that Hoster was getting on in his years, but Edmure should've at least answered the call. He would have to send a raven to his Lady's family after returning to Winterfell to make sure all was well with his wife's family.

Finally, Robert made his appearance along with his Kingsguard Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jamie Lannister, and Ser Arys Oakheart, prompting all the Lords in the hall to quickly rise to their feet. "Ah, sit the fuck down," Robert grumbled, making his way past the lords. "Save your bloody feet. We'll be marching in the morning and feeding the kraken's their own asses soon enough."

The jest earned a chuckle from the Lords present, although Ned could tell that many had to force it. Save for Lord Tywin and Lord Tarly, who both remained completely stoic as the King took his seat as Ser Selmy took his place behind him. "Alright," Robert bellowed, waving with his hand. "Let's get this shit on with. Ned, have the last of your men finally arrived?"

"They have, your grace," Ned nodded. "The Mormonts, along with the Glovers, Umbers, and some Karstarks have just finished unloading the last of their men and supplies from the ships and are currently setting camp."

"Good," Robert nodded, his eyes lightening and his manner shifting serious as it always did when matters of war were concerned. Say what one would about Robert as an individual, but in matters of warfare there were few that truly took the matter as seriously as him. "We march in the morning. Tywin. Your fucking men have been here longer than anyone else. What have your scouts told you of the fucking squids?"

"The Greyjoys have pulled their forces back behind the walls of the Pyke," Lord Tywin responded levelly. "It seems that the Greyjoys have decided to put their faith in the walls of the Pyke. And as such we will face little to no opposition on our march."

"Good," Robert nodded as his eyes roamed the table of nobles. "It's to be a siege then. Who here can tell me about the Pyke?"

Ned noticed out of the corner of his eye that Mace was about to rise, but Randyll Tarly beat his liege lord to the matter as he quickly rose to his feet. "The Redwyne fleet managed to scout the Pyke and its immediate lands and have reported back, your grace." Leaning over the table, Lord Tarly pointed at a portion of the walls of the Pyke facing south. "We lost nearly half of our scouts, but they report that the wall here is weak from more of the island falling into the sea. A few days or mayhap a week of bombardment with trebuchets and catapults will create a breach that we will be able to use to gain access to the castle. Once the walls fall, the krakens will have no choice but to surrender to our forces."

The lords around the room started mumbling to themselves, before silencing as Lord Stannis stood up and stared down at the map of the Pyke. "Taking the walls will only be the first step." Stannis shot back, almost glaring at the Reach Lords. Time, it appeared, had not given Lord Stannis the ability to forgive the Reach Lords for the siege of Storm's End during the Rebellion. "The Pyke itself is divided upon the mainland and four islands. We will have to take care with our advance through the walls and the gatehouse portion of the keep. Should they find a way to take out the bridges connecting the mainland to the other islands, it will take weeks to months to get the Greyjoys to surrender."

"Then we hit them hard and fast. Don't give them the option to retreat across the bridges," Lord Mallister growled. "The squids fight like shit on land anyway. It won't be difficult to break their ranks."

"Then that's exactly what we'll do," Robert bellowed, rising to his feet. "Prepare the men, we leave at dawn. In a week, the krakens will be dead, or part of the Seven Kingdoms once more."

"A good strategy, your grace. But unfortunately flawed in more ways than one."

The three Kingsguard drew their swords almost as one as they made to form a ring around Robert, while the rest of the Lords quickly shot to their feet, hands on their hilts and eyes scanning the room. Only Ned remained seated, his eyes traveling upwards towards the rafters. "Master Nox," he groaned, spotting the sorcerer perched upon one of the rafters eating away at an apple. "Did you really feel it necessary to announce yourself thusly?"

"Necessary?" Nox asked, finishing off the last of his apple and letting it drop down onto the table, splattering the core against the wood. "No. But insightful."

"Bloody insightful?" Robert bellowed, his face reddening. "How the fuck do you find this bloody insightful?"

Nox merely tilted his head before rolling back. With a flourish, the man flipped backwards through the air before landing onto the ground as gracefully as a cat with just as little sound. "Simple," the sorcerer shrugged, nodding towards the Kingsguard. "These three are supposed to be the best in the land and your personal protectors, no? Yet not one of them noticed my presence. Granted, if I don't want anyone to find me, they won't, but I wasn't necessarily trying to hide just now. You people need to look up more often."

The other lords started grumbling, but in the end, it was Stannis who brought them back to the topic at hand. "Master Nox, you said that our strategy is flawed. Perhaps then you can offer a better one? And as you do, perhaps you can explain why you felt it necessary to disappear and ignore the summons of your King for the past three days?"

Nox, either ignorant or simply ignoring Stannis's tone, merely shrugged. "I was scouting Pyke."

Once more, the Lords started mumbling, which ended only when Lord Lannister spoke. "You felt the need to scout the island? And what could you have learned in three days?"

"I didn't scout the island," Nox replied before waving at the map of the keep. "I scouted the Pyke Keep. The main gatehouse and the other islands that the keep is situated upon. I must say, your grace, your presence surely does have the Ironborn nearly shitting themselves out of fear. Hell, from the mumbling I heard, about a third of the inhabitants are ready to storm the other islands, capture the Greyjoys, and present them to you as a peace offering."

That quieted the other lords to the point where one could hear a mouse squeak.

"You mean to tell us," Lord Tywin began slowly and lowly. "That in three days you managed to not only cross the distance from here to the castle on foot, but you managed to infiltrated the keep, get a read on all of the facets and the moral, and return here unnoticed? Is that what you are saying, sorcerer?"

Nox merely shrugged. "Yeah, sounds about right. But honestly, I arrived back about half a day ago. I wanted to get a read on our forces as well. Much easier to do that when the men think you are one of them rather than a Lord that they have to be all prim and proper in front of all the time."

Again, Nox amazed Ned. And his resolve to have his sons learn from the sorcerer only strengthened. '_Cat will rant and rave, but his training will help Robb and Jon lead the North to a new and bright future_.' "You say that our plan is flawed, Master Nox," Ned cut in, wanting to get back on topic. "How so?"

Walking up to the table, Nox pointed down at the map directly where the weakness in the walls of the Pyke had been discovered. '_For a blind man, his sight is impeccable_.' "A weakness, Lord Tarly, is only truly a weakness if your enemy doesn't know it exists. If they do, then an apparent weakness can be turned into a trap. And that is exactly what the Ironborn have done. They've decommissioned two of their wrecked ships and used them to reinforce the wall at the weak point. They've also set up barrels of oil and four scorpions, all stationed around where the breach would potentially be created. You can breach the wall here, that is true, but the Ironborn are ready for you. And you'll lose a lot of men in the process. Not to mention, attacking from this point puts the troops unfortunately close to the coast."

"And why would that be an issue?" Lord Tyrell scoffed.

Looking down at the map, Ned thought he knew where Nox was going with this, but instead of interjecting, he let the man continue. '_He needs to prove himself to Robert, and this is a good way for him to do so_.'

"Simple," Nox shrugged, gesturing towards the several islands that made up the Pyke. "The Ironborn have hidden ships between the islands that separate out the Pyke. Once our men are in place, they will more than likely conduct night raids by ferrying their men in behind us or using whatever they can on board their ships like ballista or scorpions or whatever else they can fit onto the decks of the ships."

"Impossible," Lord Tarly growled, rising to his feet. "No one can navigate between those islands. They're a mess of rocks and shallow waters. They would sink their ships in a matter of hours. And the Redwyne fleet have not reported spotting any Ironborn vessels around the Pyke."

"And that in and of itself convinces me more than anything that the Ironborn are there, hiding and waiting for us, Lord Tarly. Think of it, this is the heart of the Ironborn, the seat of their 'King'. Why would they purposefully leave it undefended from sea? They wouldn't." Nox counted, making a good point, enough so to even make the near legendary field commander hesitate. "Ser Davos, your former profession makes you the closest thing we have to an expert in this particular situation. Tell us, if the Ironborn were to hide ships around the Pyke, where would they do so?"

All eyes turned to the former smuggler, who suddenly looked very nervous at finding himself the center of attention. Only after receiving a nod from Lord Stannis did Ser Davos rise and make his way towards the map. The elder man looked over the map but once before pointing out several small outcroppings surrounding the Pyke. "I would place ships here, here and here…mi'lord, your grace. They'd have to use longboats to avoid bottoming out on the rocks…but they could do exactly as the Lord…umm, Master, sorcerer says."

"Tarly, Tyrell. Send the Redwyne ships around to the other side of the Pyke and have them scout for these longboats and them have them set anchor just offshore to where we're going to be camping. I'd rather not give the Ironborn the chance to fuck us in the ass when we're asleep at night." After the two Lords acknowledged the orders, the King turned his attention fully to Nox. "Alright sorcerer, you've proven Tarly and Tyrell were half asleep or partially drunk when making up this plan. So, what's your alternative?"

Ned winced at the insult, throwing a passing glace towards the two lords as he did so. Tyrell flushed red out of embarrassment, but Tarly, Tarly remained stoic save for the tightening of his fists. '_Damn it, Robert… __Has__ seven years of Kingship taught you nothing of watching your fucking tongue? We're not boys in the Vale anymore_.'

"I do," Nox nodded. "We feint. Make the Ironborn think we are going to do as they suspect but do something completely different."

Leaning over the table, Nox rearranged the figurines representing their army around the Pyke on the map, dividing their army up into three parts. "We will set up the siege engines like planned, only with only a quarter of our forces. Make the Ironborn believe we are still trying to breach the wall at the weak point. Half of our forces will arrange themselves before the main gate and the remainder of our forces will be here near the northern wall where defenses are the lightest. I can breach the wall, and with the forces with me we will storm into the castle. Once we do, the forces will clear the battlements and make for the main gate. We will open the main gate, allowing the main force to enter the first part of the Pyke."

The Lords of Westeros were silent as they thought over the plan. "Do you mean to say that you plan on breaching the strongest part of the Pyke's walls by yourself, with no siege equipment?" Lord Tywin asked disbelievingly, but more from curiosity than anything derogatory or dismissive as he previously would've done. "How? Wave your hand and make a magic door appear?"

"Slightly more complicated than that, but yes," Nox answered. "And if I'm wrong, our siege engines will still be in place and you can revert back to your original plan."

Seeing the disbelieving looks on the Lords' and King's faces, Ned rose to his feet. "My Lords, your grace. While I admit that Master Nox has only recently entered my service, I can vouch that he is a man of honor and a man of his word. If he says that he can create a breach to let our men in, then I believe him." Turning towards Nox, Ned prayed to the old gods that he was not making a mistake. "Master Nox, I will dedicate my forces to you during this assault. The men of the North shall be under your command during the battle."

Nox merely nodded, as if he expected Ned to do just this. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, Lord Stark. Now, my lords, if you will excuse me, it has been a long time since I've bathed and I smell like a bantha's backside. It's getting to the point where I'm starting to offend myself. And as we will be on the march first thing in the morning, I don't know when the opportunity will present itself again. Your grace, my lords." And without waiting for a dismissal, Nox merely bowed lowly and marched out of the hall, no doubt much to the surprise of the guards outside who never even saw him enter.

"Well," Robert bellowed, rising to his feet, prompting everyone to follow suit. "You heard the pretty fucker. We go with his plan. Tarly, Tyrell send out the orders to the fleet. Everyone else, inform your men of the plan. We set off at first light… Now, someone get me a fucking whore. I need to feel a good cunt around my cock before we set out."

* * *

Striding forth between the lines of Northern soldiers waiting for the battle to start at the foot of the walls of the Pyke, Nox was hit with a wave of nostalgia. '_How long has it been since I've led men into battle like this?_' he thought as a slight feeling of elation flowed through him. '_Not long. Yet still, I have missed this sensation. The fear. The lust for battle. The desire to destroy one's enemy. The unknown before a battle. It's so thick in the air, it's almost intoxicating_.'

Walking to the front of the battle formation, Nox stationed himself between the towering figure of 'The Great Jon' and the only slightly smaller figure of the young bear Jorah Mormont who were both staring at the imposingly high wall of the Pyke that was a mere four hundred meters in front of them. Nox had to hand it to the people of this world. When they built a castle or a stronghold, they did it right. When one studied the keep with a critical eye, you could tell that at one point the separate parts of the keep had once made up a singular whole keep. But, according to what he'd read and heard, years of erosion of the island cliff face that the Pyke had been built upon had separated the keep into several smaller keeps that were situated on different islands and connected by rope bridges. First one had to get over or through the walls of the first keep on the mainland, and even once that was accomplished, you had to navigate through the different keeps that made up the Pyke and hope that the defenders didn't destroy the bridges that connected the keep together. It would be a tough fight for sure. But Nox had faced far tougher in his time.

"Well sorcerer, here we are," the 'Great' Jon mumbled, spitting on the ground. "Standing before the strongest part of the fucking gatehouse of the Pyke with no siege equipment, ladders, or even enough men to scale the fucking walls. So, what's your great plan, huh? Going to give us all wings with a wave of your hand and let us fly over the walls or some horse shit?"

Giving the larger man a smirk, Nox moved a few paces towards the keep before stopping and rolling his shoulders. He hadn't done what he was about too in some time. "When it starts, my Lords, I highly suggest that you and your men not approach any closer than you currently are until I'm finished."

The larger man huffed. "And why the fuck is that?"

"Because I cannot guarantee that I won't kill you by accident if you do," Nox responded emotionlessly as he tilted his head back and breathed deep through his mask. "Now shut up and witness the true power of the Force."

Memories flooded through Nox's mind as he opened himself to the Force. His mother being violated before him. The death of Ffon at his and Zash's hands. The death of Zash at his hands. The meeting of Ashara. Of their first time together. Of learning of her death. Every memory that invoked a powerful feeling within him flowed through his mind like a vid reel, and he was merely as spectator to the best and worst moments in his life. And with each memory that passed, his emotions deepened as his connection to the dark side, as well as parts of the light, grew stronger and stronger.

Around him, wind started to wisp as the nearby horses whimpered while the men began nervously shifting their weight from foot to foot. As their movements became more and more anxious, Nox felt the Force condensing around not only himself, but in the very earth and sky around him. He could feel the dark miasma of the Force, a physical manifestation of the dark side, forming around him as his feet left the ground while small arcs of electricity flowed around his body.

"By the gods!" he vaguely heard more than one man cry out over the rush of the Force in his ears. "What is he?"

Smiling beneath his mask, Nox fed greedily on the fear and wonder of the men behind him as he began hovering several feet of the ground. The arcs of electricity growing more frequent and increasing in their intensity connecting him to the ground briefly before disappearing. Raising his hands to the side, Nox began gathering the Force into the palms of his hands. The dark miasma and electricity bounding around his hands and arms as he brought them forward.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled deeper and deeper on the Force. Calling forth the one memory that invoked the greatest emotion of all. The last time he'd awoken in bed beside Ashara. Just before he felt himself reach his physical limit, Nox let out a cry and thrust his hands forward towards the walls of the Pyke.

The resulting wave of Force Lightning surprised even Nox in its intensity. The very earth became scorched and scarred as the bolt of Force Lightning flew from Nox's hands and impacted the walls of the Pyke. Connecting the two together. Turning his hands, palms out and hands back to back, Nox channeled the Force Lightning into the mortar of the wall, chipping away at the binding agent and forcing the lightning between the rocks that made the wall. Gritting his teeth in concentration, Nox slowly pulled his hands apart, separating the lightning into two separate beams that began eroding away at the wall, creating a growing opening.

After what felt like an eternity, Nox let go of his connection to the Force, dropping down to the ground heavily as he just barely managed to keep himself from falling flat on his face. Taking several deep breaths, Nox surveyed what he'd done. A stretch of ground nearly five meters thick and stretching from himself to the castle wall had been scorched to the point where the dirt had begun to crystalize from the heat. And the wall of Pyke was no longer complete. Where Nox's lightning had impacted, there was now little more than large pile of rubble that stretched nearly twenty meters across.

"Well, my Lords," Nox breathed, doing his best to keep himself steady and his voice strong. "I promised you and your King that I would create a breach in the wall, and I'm a man of my word. Now, are you lot going to attack or just stand here with your thumbs up your collective asses?"

"The sorcerer is right!" Jorah Mormont yelled, his sword leaving its sheath as he turned to face the assembled Northern host. "He's given us the chance to pay these Ironborn fuckers back for years of them raping and pillaging our lands! Let us show these fuckers what the North remembers! And that we will make them pay their own 'iron price' for all their sins! For the North!"

A cry of 'for the North' went up through the assembled men. Then, like a floodgate had been lifted, the men of the North charged headlong for the breach that Nox had created for them. Soon, it was only the Great Jon and Nox still standing, watching as the men of the North led by Jorah Mormont ran for the keep.

"Well, sorcerer, it appears you are a man of your word. And I'm not one who admits it easily, but I can swallow my pride today and admit that I was wrong about you." Lord Umber muttered as he stepped up beside him. "But you look like shit. Need me to carry your pretty ass into battle, or can you hold your own?"

Scoffing, Nox drew himself up to his full height and pulled out his lightsaber and held it loosely to his side. "Amusing. As if such a thing like this would be enough to slow me down. No, it's far more likely that by the end of this battle, I'll be the one having to carry your ugly ass out."

Lord Umber's smile was vicious as he drew his blade. "Ha! How about friendly competition, sorcerer? A barrel of good true Northern ale to the one who kills the most Ironborn fuckers!"

Activating his lightsaber, Nox smirked beneath his mask. "You're on, Lord Umber. And do try not to cry when you lose."

* * *

Sitting atop his horse alongside his King, Ned could do little more than stare dumbly at the wanton destruction that'd just descended upon the Pyke. '_I knew that Nox had been holding back before. But to think that he has had this kind of power hidden under the surface all this time. By the old gods…Just how powerful is Nox? Just how powerful will he make anyone who follows him? I know I said that I was going to allow Jon to become his __apprentice…__ but is such a thing even wise now? If Jon becomes as powerful as Nox and learns of his birthright, his true birthright…Will he want to take the throne? And if he does, will anyone be able to stop him from doing so?_'

"Form up! Shields in front! Archers behind! Steady march towards the gate! Forward!" Lord Tywin's thunderous commands brought Ned out of his stupor just in time to watch as the Lord of the Westerlands drew his sword and kicked his heels to his horse's flanks, urging the beast forward.

Ned was about to join the man, but Robert's outstretched hand stopped Ned in his tracks. "Ha, fucking hells, Ned! That sorcerer of yours is something else!" Robert laughed. "If only we had him during the fall of the dragons, the war would've been over a lot sooner!"

"If only," Ned agreed absentmindedly, looking out over the sea of Northmen approaching the breach, his eyes searching for one soul in particular.

He wasn't very difficult to find. His blood-red glowing sword standing out like a bright torch in the middle of the night amongst his men. Keeping his eyes on Nox, Ned tracked his movements as he ran at his almost impossible speed towards the walls, passing by his men as if they were standing still. And just as Ned didn't think Nox could surprise him anymore, the man leapt from the ground to the top of the walls of the Pyke without breaking his stride.

"Haha! Look at those Ironborn cunts!" Robert laughed as the two watched the glowing red blade steadily move across the battlements towards the main gate. "If only the fucker didn't look so Valyrian, I'd be tempted to steal him from you, Ned. But I can't…I can't look at the fucker without picturing the mad dragon fuck who ruined my love."

Again, Ned had to bite his tongue. This time almost to the point where it bled. '_How can you truly love someone you met once and only spoke with a handful of times? Did you truly love her Robert, or merely the idea of her? And if it was the idea of her, what part did you love? The potential challenge she would bring in trying to tame her? Or would you have let her be who she is?_'

Hearing the King's hammer being raised, an action that was mimicked by the Kingsguard stationed just behind the two of them, Ned left thoughts of his sister behind as he brought himself back to the battle at hand. "Come on, Ned." Robert laughed, kicking his horse forward. "We can't let that sorcerer of yours have all the fucking fun! Let's go kill some Ironborn!"

* * *

Cutting his way across the battlements, Nox found himself becoming bored with the whole battle quickly. This wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter. Even more so than the brief skirmish that'd been held at Barrowton. At least there the men had some morale and were willing to fight. Here, the defenders on the castle walls were damn near pissing themselves out of fear. Some of them couldn't even hold their weapons or shields steady before Nox cut them down like a farmer scything through wheat.

'_Unbelievably pathetic_,' Nox thought as he opened the back of an Ironborn that'd decided running was preferable to standing his ground. '_I had such high hopes upon reading up on these people that at least one of them would be able to at least provide me with some sort of challenge. But so far, they've been nothing but a disappointment_.'

Walking up to one of the towers along the wall, Nox sent a burst of Force energy into the wooden door, blasting the door and the surrounding frame inwards and leaving them little more than splinters in the wind.

Stepping through the destroyed door, Nox immediately stopped and leaned back, just barely avoiding the axe that'd been aimed for his head. Swinging his lightsaber up, Nox bisected his would-be attacker vertically and then sidestepped to avoid his falling corpse. Swinging his lightsaber around himself slowly, as the dozen defenders worked to regain their footing. "Now then, gentlemen, why don't you simply make this easy on yourselves and tell me what I want to know, and I'll be on my way. Where are the Greyjoys?"

"Fuck you, greenlander!" one of the men shouted before rushing at Nox with a throwing axe in hand.

"Pathetic," Nox calmly stated as he sidestepped the charging man and with one swing cut clean through the man's leather and chainmail armor before readying himself as the rest of the Ironborn regained their feet.

One by one the defenders of Castle Pyke charged at him, and one by one they fell before they could even come close to reaching him. With the span of a few seconds, Nox stood alone within the tower, with only two surviving Pyke defenders left alive. The elder was clutching at the stump of an arm that he had left, courtesy to Nox. And the younger, obviously related to the man, was clinging to the elder in desperation and fear.

Deactivating his lightsaber, Nox kicked up a nearby stool and sat down across from the two. "Now, there are two ways things can go from here." He explained calmly to the two near trembling men. "First, I kill you two slowly and painfully and then walk out of here and tear apart the Pyke brick by brick until I find the Greyjoys and bring them to heel. Or two, you tell me where they are holding up, and this all ends much sooner and with a lot less death and destruction. You have thirty seconds to decide."

"Fuck you, greenlander!" the elder near shouted, before groaning as the pain in his severed limb spiked, forcing him back down. "We tell you, and our liege lords will find out and they'll make examples of us and our families!"

"Possibly, or you suffer now," Nox replied disinterestedly. "But I can understand wanting to protect your families. So, tell me what I want to know, and I can assure you that the Greyjoys will know nothing of your duplicity. Fifteen seconds."

"They're in the Great Keep just across the stone bridge!" the younger man all but shouted, drawing a sharp look from the elder.

"Thank you," Nox nodded, rising to his feet. "Now, to keep my end of the bargain."

Jerking his right hand, Nox quickly snapped the two men's necks with the Force. '_Never leave an enemy behind to stab you in the back_.' Nox thought as he stared down at the corpses. '_A lesson all Sith learn at a very early stage_.'

Hearing war cries and the thunder of thousands of footsteps, Nox tilted his head to the side as he reached out with his senses. '_It appears that the King's vanguard has wasted little time in beginning their approach_.' Nox thought as he felt the unmistakable presences of the King, Stark, and Lannister all slowly approaching the castle main gate with most of their forces before them. '_Well, I suppose I should hold up my promise and open the door for them before continuing on to find the Greyjoys_.'

Walking out of the tower and back onto the ramparts, Nox took a moment to cloak himself in the force before jumping off the ramparts and onto a nearby roof before anyone could notice his presence. The cloak didn't make him invisible like a true stealth field generator. But it did make it so anyone that gave him a passing glance would simply dismiss his presence immediately. Not a good trick for deceiving those who were force sensitive. But in a city battle like this with thousands of non-force sensitives, it might as well have been one. Once he was on the roof, it was a simple matter of jumping from one roof to the next as he made his way across the condensed buildings towards the main gate. Once he was in line with the gate, he took a moment to scrutinize it. '_Reinforced steel. Layered with thick treated wood. And two dozen defenders arranged in a half-moon formation just within, ready to fight back against the first ones to breach the gate. A fine gate for this era to be sure and a decent plan. But in the end, useless against the Force_.'

Reaching out with the Force, he grabbed hold of the old sturdy gate around the edges. The defenders that were standing ready all started yelling as the steel gate groaned as the metal bent inwards seemingly without cause. The groaning stopped as the gate reached its structural limits. Then all hell broke loose as the gate's wooden beams and steel gave way, showering the defenders with a hail of wooden splinters and broken steel pieces.

'_That should be enough for now_.' Nox through, watching in mild amusement as the defenders began yelling over one another as they tried to form some semblance of defense. '_Don't want to take all the glory for myself. And besides, I still have some krakens to hunt down_.'

Turning his back on the now opened gate, Nox quickly and quietly made his away across the roof tops that composed the buildings within the gatehouse portion of the Pyke. Once he reached the cliff edge that separated the mainland portion of the Pyke from the Great Keep, Nox took a moment to kneel and observe his surroundings. The only way to access the Great Keep of the Pyke was by a single large stone bridge that crossed from the mainland to the keep. However, that bridge was now littered with makeshift barricades and well over a hundred defenders, all of whom were frantically trying to reinforce their defenses as defenders from eh main gate came filtering to the bridge and began to spread word of the gatehouse's fall.

'_Well, could go for the brute force __approach_,' Nox thought as quickly assessed the fighters beneath him. '_But that would just be a waste of time. Instead, let's go for a more…unconventional approach. And seeing as how all of their attention is focus solely in front of them, none of them are looking up. All the better for me_.'

Backing away from the edge of the house he was standing on, Nox carefully considered the Great Keep before him. Finding a spot that he deemed suitable, Nox backtracked to the opposite end of the house until his heel was on the edge. '_If nothing else, this will be interesting_.'

Running forward as fast as he could, Nox focused the Force into his legs as he approached the opposite end of the house. Right as he reached the edge, he pushed off with the force and flew into the air. None of the defenders on the bridge paid him any heed as they were more worried about what was in front of them instead of what could possibly be above them. As he quickly approached the Great Keep of the Pyke, he curled himself into a tight ball and rolled himself forward just before he crashed through a closed wooden window shutter.

The sound of a woman screaming and frantic scrambling around was the first thing to register in his mind as he rolled across the floor of the room before managing to stop himself before he collided with the wall of the room. "Damn it," he muttered, slowly rising to his feet and rolling his shoulder while using the Force to assess himself. "That hurt like hell. Right shoulder is dislocated. Cracked…one, two…three ribs. And a fractured radius in my right forearm. Lovely."

Turning his attention from himself to the other occupants in the room, Nox couldn't help but scoff and shake his head as he took in the two others that were using the room he'd just crashed into. Both of whom where frantically trying to redress. "Really? We're in the middle of a siege, and you two decide that now would be the perfect time to fuck? Force, the men in this land really do think with their cocks instead of their brains, don't they?"

The woman, a simple serving girl he would guess, had managed to cover herself mostly before trying to make herself as small as possible in the far corner of the room away from him. The man however, after lacing up his pants, had picked up a throwing axe and was now advancing on Nox. "I don't know who fuck you are, Greenlander, nor how you got here, but I'm gonna shove this fuckin axe so far up your arse that-"

Not in any mood to hear such blustering, Nox simply lifted the man off the ground with the Force and slammed him into the wall directly in front of Nox. "I'm in no mood to listen to your crude language at the moment," Nox growled as the man started clutching at his throat as Nox began choking the life out of him. "And unfortunately for you, I have need of something you possess. So, your death won't be quick nor painless."

The air around Nox's left hand condensed, forming a dark miasma of Force energy that shot out like spears and impaled the man before him. The Ironborn had a moment of realization of something going wrong before he screamed, an ear-piercing scream that Nox quickly silence by filling his mouth with a ball of Force energy. "Quiet." Nox grumbled as he began to pull the man's life essence out of his body and into his own. "This takes a great deal of concentration."

Nox could feel himself becoming revitalized as he absorbed the man's essence. His right arm twitched as his dislocated shoulder went back in placed while simultaneously his forearm cracked as the bone righted itself and healed over. Once his wounds were healed over, he released the no longer struggling man and watched dispassionately as he collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

"I hate doing that," Nox mumbled to himself as he checked himself over, noting how two of his three ribs were still not completely healed. While some dark lords reveled in stealing the life force of others, to Nox the technique always left a bad taste in his mouth, which was why he didn't bother to master it. Which was also why he usually ended up killing his victims when he used it.

Feeling a slight sensation from the Force registering a threat, Nox didn't even bother to turn around. "That would be a very poor decision for your health, my dear," he said, his words stopping the servant girl that'd been trying to sneak up behind him dead in her tracks. "Now, drop the knife, go back to your corner, and I'll let you live."

The knife that'd been in the girl's hand clattered to the floor as the serving girl scurried quickly back to the corner she'd been hiding in. "Good girl," Nox praised the young woman as he made his way towards the door, stopping as he reached out and grabbed the latch to open it. "I have no doubt that you will go and raise the alarm about my presence here. It's your duty to do so, so I will not be grudge you that. However, you will count in your head to ten a total of twenty times before you do so to give me a head start. Do so, and you will live to see tomorrow. Do not, and I will hunt you down when this is over and kill you, your parents, your siblings, and even your family pets if you have them. Understand?"

The young girl was practically hyperventilating as she nodded frantically. "Yes mi'lord."

"Good," Nox nodded, opening the door and stepping out before giving her a wave goodbye. "When you leave, tell the other servants to stay out of my way if they wish to live to tomorrow."

After leaving the room, Nox began wandering the mostly deserted corridors of the Great Hall of Castle Pyke while reaching out with his senses. '_This keep is mostly deserted save for the serving staff and a few defenders that are setting up choke points within the Keep. But there seems to be a decent number of men congregating in a large space just up ahead. There is no other clustering of men of that size anywhere, so if Balon is anywhere in the Keep, it has to be there_.'

Reaching the uppermost floor of the Keep, Nox found himself before a set of doors nearly twice as tall as himself that were slightly ajar and no one guarding them. Hearing voices coming from within, Nox leaned against the wall and listened to what was going on in the room beyond.

"-telling you, uncles! It was the Storm God himself! He threw lightning from his hands and destroyed the northern wall of the Gate Keep!" A young man was shouting desperately between desperate gasps of air.

"And so, instead of holding your position on the wall, you turned tail and fled back here like a craven Greenlander. How pathetic, nephew," a second, slightly older voice said. "Perhaps we should save the Greenlanders the trouble and send you to the Drowned God now. We can simply tell your dear father that you fell in defense of the wall. A much better tale then telling him the 'heir' to the Iron Islands ran with his tail between his legs from battle."

"Enough, Euron," a third, harsher voice cut in, ending the tirade of the newly named Euron. "Maron did right in retreating back so that we can have time to prepare against this…supposed sorcerer."

"There's nothing 'supposed' about this sorcerer, Uncle Victarion! I saw what he did with my own two fucking eyes! We need to get father and get on the ships and get out of here before he gets to us!" the young man, Maron, shouted desperately.

"So, your plan is to simply leave the Iron Islands to King Robert," a fourth, slightly more cultured voice chimed in. "You would abandon your people to his wrath just to save your own skin? If that is your plan, then tell me why my men and I should not simply kill you now and present your corpse to Robert as a peace offering?"

Deciding he'd heard enough and that he wanted to have a little fun, Nox knocked on the door with enough force to open the heavy door, revealing himself to the occupants on the other side. "Oh, excuse me," Nox muttered, looking around the room. '_Hmmm, Maron, Victarion, Euron, the noble cultured voice one and a dozen men at __arms. This__ might __possibly__ prove to be a bit __entertaining_.' "I'm looking for a pathetic cowardly weasel named Balon Greyjoy. I've been tasked him bringing him to King Robert alive…or at least partially alive that is. If you gentlemen could kindly point me in his direction, I'll leave you to your bickering."

It was almost comical to watch as the dozen men at arms tried their best to form a human shield between Nox and the Lords while the Lords themselves did their best not to act surprised. "So," the one he identified as Euron, drawled while stepping forward. "You must be this 'sorcerer' that turned my _beloved_ nephew into a coward. You've got balls, I'll admit that. But apparently all that power has rotted your mind. That's the only reason as to why you are here, alone. In the heart of our power."

The moment Nox was able to get a good read on the man, he immediately put this Euron Greyjoy on his list of others keep an eye on. His comments were crass, and his manner was that of a prankster. But Nox could see beyond those facades to the keen mind beneath. A mind that was far more open than others he'd met. Yes, he would have to keep a close eye on this man. Provided he lived the day that was.

"Who can say for sure," Nox shrugged before pointing towards a table near the side windows that held several dozen pitchers and glasses. "Mind if sate my thirst? Slaughtering all of your men on my way here has made me quite parched."

Nearly all the Ironborn shifted their weight forward to charge at his comment, but Euron showed the respect and command he held amongst his brethren as he stopped them all with a simply outstretched hand. "Of course, I'm not one to deny a dead man his last request."

Walking over to the table, Nox took his time in examining each pitcher for poison or any other nefarious chemicals before picking up a pitcher of red wine and pouring himself a glass. After his failure to spot the poison cup offered to him by Lord Paladius on Nar Shaddaa, Nox had made a point to learn how to detect contaminants in drinks to prevent himself from being taken unaware like that again.

Uncoupling his mask, he held it loosely off to the side as he took a long drink. "This isn't bad," he remarked. "Would this be Arbor gold by chance? I'll have to have a case delivered if it is."

All the Ironborn were staring at him in stunned silence as his face was revealed to all. Euron was the first to overcome his surprise. The reaver threw his head back and laughed a full belly laugh. "Hahaha! This is too fucking much! A blind man! A fucking blind man made my beloved nephew run like a fucking coward. This is too funny."

Finishing off the cup, he set it back down on the table and turned so he was facing Euron and the nobles. With his supposed handicap now exposed, he wasn't surprised as Euron and the cultured noble to begin directing the other Ironborn with hand signals to quietly surround him. '_Not as dumb as I thought. This is proving more and more promising with each passing minute_.' "Blind I may be, Euron Greyjoy, but I still see better than most. Just in a different manner is all. And I'm not dead yet, so why do you assume having a drink was a 'last request', as you call it? Your nephew saw me destroy the strongest part of your defenses and I cut my way through your men to get here. So, knowing that, what chance do you think you and your men have? Even if you are the supposed 'best' the Iron Islands have to offer?"

He could practically feel the cockiness radiating off of Euron as he drew himself up to his full height. "I've sailed across most of the known world, blind man, all the way to Qarth and back. I've met and talked with the warlocks of Qarth and I've seen a shadow priestess perform rituals while other red priestess use their power to discern the future from the flames. And while the power is unquestionable, it all comes with a similar cost. It's exhausting. The Warlocks would sleep for a day after performing a ritual. And the shadowbinder I watched had to be half carried away after she was finished with her task. And you, you destroyed a wall. Fought through dozens, maybe hundreds of our men and made your way here. I'd be surprised if you even had enough power left in you to defeat one of us, let alone _two dozen_."

"Sixteen," Nox corrected. "There are sixteen of you. Yourself, Maron, Victarion, another noble and a dozen men at arms, totaling sixteen. Not two dozen. I'm blind, not inept."

Euron recovered quickly. "Apparently so. I like you, sorcerer. So, I'll make you a deal. I let you live, and you teach me how to throw lightning from my hands like my nephew claims you can."

Reaffixing his mask, Nox shook his head. "And you still think that you are in control. Foolishly naïve." The men now had him fully surrounded, four of whom had crossbows aimed at his back waiting for Euron's signal to end his life. "While what you said about mystical powers exhausting those who use them is technically correct, your reasoning is flawed. Because whoever said that I use the same type of power as these warlocks and shadowbinders?"

"Kill the bastard!" the young Greyjoy, Maron, shouted, his sword clearing its sheath. "A new galley and captaincy to the one who ends this fucker's life!"

"Foolish," Nox growled, lifting his left hand.

In response, the four men behind him with crossbows all rose into the air, clutching their throats as Nox cut off their air with the Force. Clenching his fist and twisting it, he broke all four of their necks simultaneously while using the Force to draw his lightsaber into his right hand and activating it before their bodies could hit the floor. "Now, who wants to die next?"

The sudden death of four of their comrades halted the Ironborn, but only for a second as Victarion gave off a vicious war cry and charged at him, his two-headed axe held high and ready to cut him down.

"You're full of openings." Nox commented quietly, using the Force to carry his voice so that all of the men could hear him despite his tone.

Sliding his left foot forward, Nox brought his lightsaber down on an angle, cutting through Victarion's right arm before following the attack up with a swift kick with his right foot into Victarion's chest. Victarion's chest armor folded like cheap metal beneath the force of the impact, the impressively sized Greyjoy was sent flat onto his back. Winded, armless and weaponless.

"You're all full of openings." Nox remarked further as the rest of the Ironborn charged at him.

Moving in a blur of motion, Nox cut down one attack after another, exploiting every opening he could find in the men's armor and form. One foolish idiot got it in his mind to try climb atop a table and make a jump at him, but he didn't even get the chance to start his descent before Nox ended his pathetic life with a bout of Force lightning from his left hand. Within seconds, the Ironborn number had been reduced to half. Soon after there were only four left standing: Euron, Maron, the noble and one man at arms.

Euron was skilled, there was no doubt about that. But his movements had been honed to fight on the rocking of a ship, not on land, and it showed as the man was incredibly off balance as he unconsciously tried to constantly correct himself while swinging wildly at Nox. "You're good," Nox remarked as he dodged the wild attacks. Eventually, Euron overextended and Nox was able to step within Euron's reach, brining his knee up into the pirate's gut and doubling the man over. "But not good enough."

Raising his lightsaber, he brought the blade down intent to cleave through the man's head. But at the last moment he threw himself back as he felt a tremor in the Force. The bolt of a crossbow passed through the air where he'd been not a moment before. While he managed to avoid the bolt, his movements redirected his lightsaber, so instead of cutting through Euron's head, his lightsaber merely grazed across his face and over his left eye, leaving Euron to scream in agony as he clutched at the burning wound.

"Die, sorcerer!"

Using the Force to support himself, Nox managed to spin in a tight circle despite being bent backwards to the point of being nearly parallel to the floor. Circling around his opponent, Nox brought slashed at Ironborn's back, cutting deep and making the man collapse face first onto the cold stone floor. "Prince Maron!"

Righting himself, Nox brought his lightsaber back around ready to end the cultured noble, only for something unexpected to happen. Instead of having his lightsaber cut through the metal of the man's sword, the two blades…locked upon meeting one another. The fact that his lightsaber had been blocked completely floored Nox as a thousand and one questions immediately raced through his mind. It was only because of a warning from the Force that he was able to avoid the follow up attack from the noble, but even then, only just as the man's blade left a slight scratch across the surface of his chest plate.

"Get the prince and the injured out of here!" the cultured noble yelled over his shoulder to whoever was still able to move while he stood before Nox, his sword held in a mid-guard and, surprisingly, unblemished. "I'll deal with the sorcerer cunt!"

Tracing a finger along the scratch on his chest, Nox did nothing to stop the man at arms and Victarion Greyjoy as they helped Maron and Euron Greyjoy to their feet and carried them out of the hall. _'Interesting,'_ he thought, focusing in on the blade in the noble's hand. '_There are very few substances that can stand against a lightsaber, beskar being the most well known and most sought after. But even then, it will yield after prolonged contact. But that sword… __That__ sword is completely unblemished after locking blades with a lightsaber. Most interesting_.'

"Tell me, is that Valyrian steel by chance?"

The noble hesitated. "And what if it is?"

"Just curious," Nox remarked. "I've only seen one example of Valyrian Steel since coming to these lands and that is the Stark family sword, Ice. And, as remarkable as the weapon is, I couldn't exactly ask my host to let me experiment on a basically priceless family heirloom. But now, here you are with a Valyrian sword. So, let's make a deal. You hand it over, and I let you live. Refuse, and I take the sword from your corpse."

"Like hells you will!" The noble shouted, taking up an absurd stance, but one that the noble no doubt found 'heroic'. "I am Lord Dunstam Drumm, the Bone Hand! The Captain of the _Thunderer_ and Lord of Old Wyk of the Iron Islands! I've been killing men twice your age and skill since before your father squirted you into your whore of a mother's cunt! And I will be damned to the depths of the Drowned God before I see my family's sword in the hands of a Greenlander cun-"

To Lord Dunstan's eyes, Nox must've seem to have moved from his several paces away to right by his side in the blink of an eye. In truth, Nox had simply used the Force to subtly make the man believe that Nox was still standing in place when in truth, he'd been approaching the man throughout his tirade. The hissing of his lightsaber cut through the sudden silence as Nox activated his weapon while it was pressed firmly against the man's side. The lightsaber easily cut through the Lord's body, sticking out the opposite side from where Nox was standing.

"A lightsaber doesn't truthfully cut in the conventional sense. The blade in fact burns through whatever it touches. I can only imagine the agony you must be feeling at this moment, forced to stay standing as my lightsaber slowly burns you from the inside." Nox's voice was completely devoid of emotion as he held his position, lightsaber piercing through the Ironborn Lord and using the Force to keep him in place. "Normally, I would relish the opportunity to fight one as skilled as you. Especially as we were on equal footing with you having a Valyrian sword. And while I would've still killed you in the end, I would've made your death quick. But you made a fatal flaw. And that was insulting my mother. A woman who was tortured and brutalized before my very eyes simply because I was born with the Force. And now, not only will you die a slow agonizing death, but I'm going to take your sword and melt it down and experiment on it to my heart's content."

Lord Drumm's eyes bulged as he tried to fight a quickly losing battle against the pain coursing through his body. "Don't talk." Nox growled, twisting the blade and ripping it out of the man, "just die."

Sidestepping, Nox let the Ironborn Lord fall face first to the ground, dead. Deactivating his lightsaber, Nox used the Force to summon the Valyrian sword, Red Rain, along with its sheath and the belt the Lord used to hold the sheath to his waist. It took him a minute, but Nox managed to configure it so that the belt crossed his chest from his shoulder to his hip, leaving the pummel of the sword over his right shoulder.

Reaching out with his senses, he quickly found the three retreating Greyjoys and their one surviving man at arms. Now that he had seen them, fought against them, he could easily pick up their presences through the Force and track them. They were moving as fast as they could out of the keep and making their way across a stone bridge to the next keep on the island chain.

"Run, little mice," Nox smirked beneath his mask as he set off on a leisurely pace, letting the Greyjoys run freely from him. "Run back to your brother and 'King'. It'll make finding him all the easier once you lead me directly to him."


	6. Greyjoy Rebellion Part 3

**Well, here we are folks, a bit earlier than I had anticipated, but this chapter was easy and fun to write. Again, despite the early release of this chapter, I still plan on releasing new chapters on a monthly basis, unless I get ahead of myself and get a chapter done and get a good head start on the next chapter.**

**Like always, thank you to everyone who has added this story to their alerts, favorites or who have taken the time to review. Thank you all very much! And please, feel free to continue reviewing if you feel so inclined, it really helps to motivate writing when you know that you are making something that people enjoy reading.**

**And a huge shout out to my brainstorm partner/beta reader for this story, Tellemicus Sundance. Thank you for all your help on this and the quick turnaround time.**

**Lastly, standard disclaimer; I do not own Game of Thrones, A Song of Fire and Ice nor Star Wars.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Standing near the bedside that housed his eldest son, Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands and Lord of the Seas, watched on as the Maester of the Pyke wiped the dried blood off his son's back with a wet cloth. His son's skin had grown pale, deathly pale. His eyes would not open. And the only indication that he even still lived was the very slow, very erratic rise and fall of his chest as he gasped for his last breathes. "You will save him." Balon stated emotionlessly. He'd already lost one son in this war, and he would be damned if he would lose another.

The Maester paused mid-wipe and gave him a fearful look. "My lor – Your Grace. I…I don't know if I can. Whatever he was hit with cut through his clothes and plate armor like they were nothing. His wound is deep and already cauterized. I've never seen a weapon that could do…_this_. At this point, I believe all that we can do is make him comfortable."

Balon crossed the room and grasped the Maester by the throat, squeezing tight and lifting the trembling old fool up to his feet. "You will save him," Balon commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I have no need for a Maester that cannot even perform the most basic of instructions. Heal him. Or share his fate."

Letting go of the old fool, Balon turned his back on the Maester and his son and left the room. '_How did it come to this?_' Balon cursed as he marched down the hall towards the main hall within the Sea Tower towards the small gathering hall while his two 'Kingsgaurd' fell into step behind him. '_Euron has lost his eye and is out of the fight. The Maester shoved enough milk of the poppy down his throat to ensure that much. Victarion can still fight, but the man is now lame and next to useless. How…How could this come to pass?_'

Sure, Balon knew that his succession from the Iron Throne and subsequent raids on the Westerlands and the rest of Westeros would provoke a retaliation, but he had not expected _this_. Dorne had not joined, as he'd expected. But the fact that the Tyrells and the rest of the Reach had joined the fight so readily had not been what he'd planned for. That and the North arriving so fast. Even after he'd sent a fleet to cripple their few pathetic ships! All the northern raids had been delaying tactics, to be sure. But they were strategically planned to draw everyone's attention away from Balon's true goal. The one thing that would truly allow him to win this war and have Robert all but begging for him to keep his crown. '_How did it all go wrong?!_'

He knew the answer to that question though, even if he did not want to accept it. The Northern Sorcerer. A variable he had not accounted for, and rightfully so. The man had not even existed in Westeros until just before Balon launched his war. If not for that magical fuck, then the Northern armies would still be stranded in the North and Balon would not be reduced to hiding like a fucking coward in the Sea Tower, using his last option to try and buy as much time as necessary for the men he'd dispatched to complete their task. And his son would not be on the plank, fighting to stay out of the Storm God's embrace.

Walking into the hall, he took stock what few men he had left between himself and Robert's armies. '_A crippled kraken and three dozen men. Not much of a fucking army_,' he thought bitterly as he made his way towards his makeshift throne. He would've preferred the Seastone Chair, but as his brothers lost the Great Hall to that sorcerous fucker. So, this was now his throne. "Captain Hugo," Balon barked, ignoring his brother, who'd wrapped his stump of an arm in a cloth bandage. "Take two dozen men and secure the hall. Knock down the rope bridge. Make sure that sorcerer fuck can't reach us."

His captain of the guard nodded and saluted him by slamming his fist against his chest. "It will be done, your grace." The man said before turning and barking out orders as he and two-thirds of Balon's remaining forces went with him.

Once they were out of the hall, Balon turned to his brother. "Seal the door."

His brother's brow twitched, but he nodded and rose to his feet to see the orders done. His brother knew the plan. Knew that at this point, they were only trying to buy time. Should the fallen rope bridge prove enough to keep the sorcerer and Robert at bay, then he would unseal the door. But should it not, then the two dozen men looked outside the hall would make sure the sorcerer did not leave the hall alive.

Leaning back in his throne, he watched as his remaining dozen men shut the heavy doors to the hall before using tables, chairs and whatever else they could find to barricade the door from this side. Just as the last piece of furniture was being upended and brought to the doors, the Maester of the Pyke hobbled his way into the room. His pace and constant fidgeting told Balon everything he needed to know. His son had entered the embrace of the Drowned God.

"Your grace…" The Maester stuttered, clearly trying to find the words. "I – Your son, he-"

"He is healed, is he not?" Balon asked, knowing full well the answer. '_This war may have turned on me, but I will find my satisfaction one way or another. Even if it is just by fucking with this cunt_.'

The Maester was visibly sweating. "Your grace…Your son, Prince Maron, has… He has passed, your grace."

Leaning forward, Balon rested his elbows on his knees and fixed the Maester with a glare. "Tell me, Maester. You were trained in the art of healing, were you not? And the purpose of a Maester is to treat and keep the ruling family members alive, is it not?"

The Maester visibly swallowed. "Yes, your grace…it is."

"So," Balon continued. "You're either a failure or a fraud. And I have no use for either."

Snapping his fingers, his two Kingsguard marched forward. One of the men slammed his gauntleted fist into the old man's gut, doubling him over before each grabbed an arm and hoisted the man up. "Had we been at sea, I would order you keelhauled for your failure. But as we are not, I have to get creative." Rising to his feet, he grabbed the Maester's chin and forced the man to look up at him. "Put him in a fish barrel, pound a few nails in to drive the 'point' of his failure home. And then throw him out the tallest window to the sea."

Returning to his chair, Balon watched on with no slight amount of amusement as the Maester screamed and pleaded for his life as his two Kingsguard shoved the withered old man into a nearby barrel and sealed the top. The man's muffled screams only intensified as they began pounding over a dozen hand length iron nails into the sidewalls of the barrels. And as they tipped the barrel over and began to roll it out of the hall, the Maester's cries reached a fevered pitch as he beg for mercy and beat his fists against his cramped wooden prison.

"Brother."

His amusement cut short, Balon fixed his lame brother with a glare. "That is 'your grace', lame Victarion."

His brother sneered, "As you wish…your grace."

"Better," Balon nodded before waving with his hand for his brother to continue. "Now, tell me everything you saw when battling this, sorcerer. Before he turned you into a lame failure, that is."

Victarion's sneer only intensified. "As you wish, your grace."

* * *

Walking with his men, the Captain of the Guard for Greyjoy House, Hugo Pyke, kept a weather eye on his surroundings at all times, even as they simply walked from the gathering hall to the rope bridge that served as the final connection point from the Sea Tower to the rest of the islands that made up the great Pyke Keep. Based on what Victarion Greyjoy had managed to tell them about this 'sorcerer's abilities, Hugo wouldn't have been surprised if the man suddenly materialized out of the shadows. And judging by the way his men were near jumping at every little sound and the way their eyes kept moving towards each new shadow they passed, their thoughts were similar to his own.

Once they reached the balcony that led to the robe bridge, Hugo scanned the bridge and the other two stone bridges that led up to the robe bridge carefully, trying to find any clue as to the whereabouts of the sorcerer. But there was no sign of the man at all. "You four," he called out, pointing to four of the two dozen with him before motioning towards his two best archers. "Start cutting the bridge supports. You two, keep an eye on the other bridges. If that fucker shows his head, I want each of you to put two arrows in his fucking skull and then one in his balls."

"Aye, Cap'n," the six men he signaled out responded before setting about their respective tasks.

"The rest of you sorry cunts, with me," he ground out, turning his back on the rope bridge. "We're gonna set a few surprises for this fuckin sorcerer should he manage to reach us."

"But, Cap'n," one of the men called out, clearly confused. "If we be cuttin the only bridge to the tower, then how is the fucker gonna reach us?"

Stopping in his tracks, Hugo fixed the idiot with a glare that'd make battle-hardened men nearly piss in their pants. "If what Lord Greyjoy said be true, then that fucker destroyed the walls of the gate keep and managed to get to the Great Keep without _anyone fuckin noticing_. Do you _really_ think a simple thing like not having a bridge will stop that fucker from reaching us?"

His men didn't have anything to say to that as he led them back down the corridor towards the gathering hall and King Balon's solar. Thankfully, they had the advantage in terms of terrain within the tower. The circular corridor that wound around the tower leading up to the gathering hall was a one-way passage, with several guest rooms situated within the tower. "Keep these doors open. He commanded, motioned towards the rooms they passed. "Two men will be in each room, hidden from view. Once that fucker passes you by, fuck him up the ass an-"

Screams of death and the unmistakable fading scream of a man falling to his death echoed throughout the corridor, making all his men turn quickly and draw their weapons. "I-Impossible." The youngest of those in his guard stammered. "He – He wasn't on the bridge just a moment ago! He wasn't on any of the fuckin bridges! He couldn't – fuck – fucking hells -fuck! We're dead! We're fuc—"

"Shut your hole before I shove my axe in it!" Hugo growled, slapping the boy across the face with enough force to send him to the ground. "No time to set fuckin traps now…Fall back to the gathering hall."

But as they made their way back to the gathering hall, Hugo felt his already low heart sink into the pit of his stomach at finding the doors to the gathering hall shut. No doubt sealed from the inside on orders of King Balon. "No," the same youngster from earlier whispered, his lip coated with blood from the slap. "His grace…He's left us to die! We're going to fucking die! He's leaving us to fuck—" Drawing his dirk, Hugo stepped up behind the lad, clasped a hand over his mouth and shoved his dirk through the boy's back and into his heart. Letting go, he let the dying body fall face first to the ground.

"His grace hasn't abandoned us," he growled, cursing his King for leaving him in this situation. But it was true, after a fashion. He knew his King well enough to know that Balon hadn't abandoned them. He'd given them two options. Kill the intruder. Or die trying. "His grace has given us the chance to prove that we truly are the toughest fuckers in the land! Once we kill this sorcerer cunt, our legend will be such that whenever we enter a room, every cunt will be dripping just waiting to get our cocks in them! And every man will only be able to wish they could have the honor we have! But that reward comes with a price! The iron price! Let us pay the iron price upon this fucking cunt sorcerer to ensure our reputation as the best fighters in the fucking realm!"

He could see some of his men's eyes harden as their backs straightened. The thought of killing the one who maimed the Greyjoys and potentially killed their prince by itself was very enticing. But their Captain was right. Once they took him down, they would be fucking legends. And anything they could imagine would be theirs. Salt wives, rock wives, ships, gold…anything.

"Form up!" Hugo shouted, sheathing his dirk and raising his axe. "Shields in front, archers behind. Swords and axes at the ready! Let's kill this fucker!"

His men quickly formed ranks, six men with heavy shields took a knee in front of him while three archers notched arrows behind them and waited for their enemy to show himself. '_Come on, you fucking coward!_' Hugo cursed, casting glances at his men and noting their slight shifting in place as their nerves began to return with the longer they were forced to wait. '_It took you no fucking time at all to cross the bridges…So why the fuck are you taking a leisurely stroll now!?_'

He received his answer in the form of the sound of something slamming shut. Then another. Then another. It took him a minute to place, but as he noticed the slowly darkening hall before him, he realized what was happening. "Light the torches! Now!" he shouted, drawing surprised looks from his men, not surprising seeing as how it was midday and the sun was high in the sky. "The fucker is shutting the shutters! Light the fucking torches now!"

His men, finally noticing the hall darkening as another shutter slammed shut, began frantically searching themselves for a piece of flint. Mercifully, one of his men had a piece on him and the only just managed to light a single torch as the shutter just down from the window they were standing next to slammed shut. "Don't let that fucking thing close!" He shouted, motioning towards the shutter that, with the now lit torch, was their only source of light in the hall.

"I got it," one of his men shouted, laying down his axe as he stuck his body half out the window and used his arms to brace the shutters open. "Get some fuckin wood! We need to—"

Whatever his man was about to say was lost in his screams and a splattering of blood as the shutters he'd been holding open forcibly shut, breaking several bones in the man's arm and removing his head from his shoulders. For a long moment, the body remained standing before it toppled limply to the side and went still completely.

"By the fucking deep," Hugo cursed, staring down at the headless corpse of one of his best. "Throw his fuckin body down the hall. Can't have it tripping our feet."

His men looked at one another, fear evident on their faces even as they bent over to roll the headless body a few feet down the hall away from their formation. Once the body was clear, Hugo stared down the darkened corridor. '_This isn't right_.' He thought, noting just how dark the corridor had become. '_It's midday. Atbest, those shutters should've only been able to cut out some of the sunlight. But instead…it might as well be the dead of night in here instead of midday! We need more light!_'

"You," he ordered, motioning towards the man with the torch. "Get your ass down there and light the other torches."

The man looked from him, to the torch in his hand and then to down the hall. "No way in the deep fuckin hells am I goin down the fuck there!"

"Cowardly cunt," another man with a shield cursed, ripping the torch from the man's hand. "Guess we know who fucks and who gets fucked between you and your rock wife."

Pausing to light a second outstretched torch, the man readied his shield in front of him, held the lit torch above his head and out of his eyesight, and slowly walked down the hall. After a dozen or so paces, he came to the first wall sconce. Raising the torch, he quickly touched the flame to the top of the sconce, setting it alight and giving light to more of the hall. "See?" the man shouted over his shoulder, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the darkness in front of him. "There's nothing to be sca – ah!"

His sudden scream was followed as his body jerk forward. The sudden movement jarring the torch from his outstretched hand as it fell uselessly to the floor. What came next was something straight out of any man's worst nightmare. Screams. Screams of suffering and the unmistakable sound of bones snapping over and over came from the depths of the shadows. His men made to charge and save their fellow reaver, but Hugo held out his hand, stopping them in their tracks.

"Hold the line, you dimwitted fucks!" he shouted, trying to get his voice over the sounds of the screams of agony from the dark. "He fuckin wants us to come after him! Stand your fucking ground!"

Without warning, the screaming stopped, and the hall was cast in silence as Hugo and those he had remaining stayed in formation, waiting for the sorcerer to come out of the darkness. A slight movement in the light caught his eye. Before he could issue the command, the three archers he had all released their arrows as one towards the disturbance. "Hold!" he shouted, holding up his hand.

'_Strange…the arrows didn't clutter to the ground,_' he thought, his eyes desperately searching the darkness. The slightest whistle was their only warning as the three arrows that'd been released by his archers were suddenly coming back at them. No one, not even Hugo, had time to react as the three arrows whistled past them and pierced each of his archers through the heart, ending their lives. And before their bodies could even hit the ground, a wet sound, like a bag of wet clothes, hit the ground half the distance between Hugo and his remaining men and the second lit torch down the hall. It was the man he'd sent down to light the torches. His body twisted into knots, literally, and his face frozen in a scream of dying agony.

"_Fuckin coward!_" Hugo shouted to the darkness. "_Show your fucking self, sorcerer!_ You think this shit scars us?! _We're fuckin Ironborn!_ We see shit like this during the breaking of our fast!"

"If that is indeed true, and I highly doubt that it is, then I truly feel sorry for your people."

Hugo, and the rest of his men, all snapped up straight as possible, their wepaons held aloft and ready for a fight as they faced off against the voice in the darkness. '_Strange…I heard him. But I can't tell where his voice was coming from! It was almost as if he's fucking everywhere at once!_' "You think your little tricks scare us, sorcerer?" He shouted, putting on a brave front for his men. "You don't! You hear me, you fucking cunt! You don't scare us! These little tricks mean nothing!"

A laugh, slow and menacing, came from the dark. "Judging by the fact that the man next to you has literally pissed himself, I believe that I am doing a _fine job_ of scaring you." Risking a glance downwards, Hugo's lips curled up in disgust as he could see in the dim light of the torch that the man next to him had, in fact, pissed himself. "But if you are not scared just yet…then perhaps I should actually start trying. Let me show you, Captain Hugo Pyke, what it truly means to fight against a Sith."

Tightening his hold on his axe, Hugo waited with bated breath for the bastard to finally show himself. Only, he didn't. "Fuck me, look at the fuckin walls!"

Eyes flickering towards the torch, Hugo's eyes widened at what he saw. '_That's…That's impossible!_' The shadows were…moving around the torch. Elongating. Stretching. Almost as if they…no…they were. The shadows were forming into tenticles. And just like a kraken reaching from the depths of the sea to capture a ship, the darkness reached out from the shadows, wound up the torch and snuffed the flame out, darkening the hall again.

"Don't let that fucking torch go out!" Hugo shouted, pushing the man holding the torch back and doing his best to keep the fear from leeching into his voice. '_Is this…Is this what he meant?_' he wondered as he watched the shadows slowly crawl across the wall and the up to the torch to snuff out yet another light. '_This…fear? Is this…how these strange fuckers fight? Fucking cowards!_'

"Fuck!"

Whipping his head around, Hugo's eyes widened even further as he turned just in time to watch the shadows grab hold of the last remaining torch, wrenching it free from the man's hand and bringing it up to the ceiling before snuffing out the flame and leaving Hugo and his last remaining men encased in total darkness.

"Dead…We're fucking dead!"

Hugo didn't correct the man. His fear had taken hold as soon as the darkness surrounded them completely. He could hear his own heart hammering in his chest and found the sudden darkness only slightly welcoming as it meant his men couldn't see the axe shaking in his hand. Then he felt it. The cold. It stabbed at his heart and his gut, almost doubling him over as fear ran rampart through him. His body shivered against his will and his heart hammered as sweat began to run free down his face.

The silence and darkness were broken as a hiss of quenched steel, loud as if it were a hammer on an anvil. The darkness was broken as the hall illuminated in a red glow that took the shape of a sword in a man's hand. A man wearing all black with a mask over his face. Hugo was not one for religion outside of the Drowned God. But here and now, he swore that he was looking at the avatar of the Stranger himself. And all he could think was one final thought as the Stranger advanced. '_We're so fucked_.'

* * *

Sitting in his makeshift throne, Balon fixated his gaze on the barred door on the opposite end of the hall from him. Beside him stood his daughter Asha, wearing leather armor and holding an axe. '_If only you had been born a man instead,_' Balon lamented and sneered at her. '_Perhaps then I would've actually had a son I could be proud of. But no matter…she will serve her purpose here. I didn't summon her here to fight, as amusing as that would be to see. No. She's here for one reason only. To serve as a woman should serve: on her back or on her knees. And if that's what it takes to delay this…sorcerer, that I need to offer my want-to-be-son of a daughter to this fucking man, then so be it!_'

On his other side stood Victarion, his stump of an arm wrapped in layers and holding an axe in his remaining hand. And beside him was Euron, who was standing on his feet but still under the effects of the milk of the poppy. '_A lame brother and a second dulled by the milk of the poppy, pathetic,_' he thought, casting a look around the room at what was left of his men. '_And a dozen fuckers left. That's all I have. All I have left of my kingdom now. But all is not lost. Not yet. We may not have been able to buy as much time as necessary during the siege. But my men should've completed at least one of their tasks by now. I may have to be humiliated before Robert…But, in the end, he will come back to me, on his knees, begging for me to take back my crown!_'

Just as the thought passed through his head of Robert on his knees before him, the screaming started. Screams. Pleas for mercy and for help as fists banned on the door from the opposite side. '_He got here faster than I thought,_' Balon sneered, watching as his men cranked their crossbows and aimed them at the door. '_Perhaps there actually is something to the fucking farfetched tales that Euron and Victarion spun to excuse their failure in stopping him_.'

All too soon, the screaming and pounding on the door abruptly ceased, leaving only silence. "Fucking deep hells," his daughter cursed, her stance fidgeting as she reaffirmed her hold on her axe. "He…He killed them so fucking quickly."

On his other side, Euron chuckled as he swayed in place. "He's the fucking avatar of the Storm-fucking-God. Simply…amazing. What secrets he holds…I need to know!"

Before Balon could reprimand his brother and daughter, the strangest sight happened. A red…glowing blade jabbed clean through the wood and steel of the door. Then the blade traveled down, slowly, cutting through every brace that was sealing the two doors shut. '_What fucking sorcery is th—?_'

Without warning the blade retracted, disappearing as it reached the bottom of the doors. Then, the doors flew open without warning. The sudden force of them opening tossed the tables, chairs and wooden beams that'd been holding the doors shut across the room as if they'd been shot out from a scorpion. Balon ducked, as did his brothers and daughter. But some of his men were not so lucky as the wood and steel from the door and its braces impaled or knocked back over half his remaining men.

"Kill the fuc – ahhh!"

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. But lightning and thunder shot forth out of the now open door, striking the man who'd shouted in the chest and throwing him back into the far wall with the force to break every bone in his body.

Two more of his men managed to recover and made to charge, but both stopped in their tracks as they suddenly grabbed their throats. Then they rose into the air, clutching at their throats as if they were being lifted by an unseen force. The sounds of their necks snapping hastened Balon's breath while he watched on helplessly as their limp bodies dropped back to the ground were, they lay motionless.

By the time Balon managed to get to his knees, his men were all but gone, leaving only himself, Asha, Euron, Victarion and two others. Then he saw him. And his breath caught in his lungs as he did. His boots echoing against the stone floor with each step he took. Cloaked in black, with black armor and gauntlets and mask that completely obscured his face from view. But it wasn't just his appearance. No. It was…his presence. It felt as if Balon was staring into the deepest abyss in the land. He never been one to admit his fear, but in this moment, Balon had never been more scared in his entire life.

"Fucking deep hells," his daughter gasped, her hand visibly shaking. "Die, you fucking sorcerer!"

Before he could stop her, his idiot daughter charged head long at the sorcerer. '_Stupid fucking cunt!_' Balon wanted to scream as he watched his daughter run head long to her death. '_That isn't why I brought you out of your fucking room!_'

When she was just a few paces away, Asha swung her axe, throwing all her weight behind it as the steel aimed straight for the man's neck. But just as Balon predicted, the steel never connected with flesh. But strangely enough, the man didn't use his magic to stop her. No, he simply caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her cold. "Interesting." The man's voice came from beneath the mask as if he were examining some strange oddity. "You have strength, girl. More than you know. But you are not ready to challenge me yet."

In the next instant, his fist flashed out, slamming into Asha's gut and doubling her over and sending her to all fours as it drove all the wind out of her lungs. "And if you stay as you are, then you never will be."

Balon had to give his daughter credit as she held onto her gut and glared up at the sorcerer. "You…killed my…brother."

The sorcerer's head tilted to the side. "Oh, I see. So, you are a Greyjoy. And your brother…Maron, yes? He did not survive the wounds he received then. But should you really be so surprised? Your brother tried to kill me first, after all."

"Enough!" Balon shouted, finally finding his voice. Standing up to his full height, Balon took a moment to straighten his robes as well as swallow his pride. '_I need this to work…_' "You have clearly bested my men, sorcerer. You have made your way through the labyrinth that is the Pyke unscathed. That is commendable and impressive. So, let us make a deal."

The sorcerer stilled his hand, which Balon took as a good sign. "A deal?" The man questioned, his stance relaxing, which in turn made Balon relax ever so slightly. '_Good, he's open to the idea. This is the opening that I need_.' "This should be interesting. Alright, Greyjoy, let's hear it. What kind of deal could you _possibly_ offer me when I'm a few seconds away from ending your pathetic excuse for a rebellion?"

Straightening his clothes to buy himself a moment to collect his words, Balon made sure to look the man directly into his…well, where he assumed the man's eyes were located based on his helm. "The deal is this, sorcerer. We cannot beat you, that much is certain. But neither can Robert and his allies. All of whom are conveniently located here in my keep. Ripe for the pruning. You kill all of them, which I am sure you can do, then together we can wipe out the few straggling ships they have left, and the mainland will be ours to take."

The helmed sorcerer said not a word. He just stood there, silently. '_He hasn't outright rejected the offer,_' Balon thought with hope. '_Which means he's considering it! And who wouldn't take the offer? This will raise him far above his status that he currently has as a Stark lapdog. Of course, the moment he finishes off Robert and the mainland lords that are here in the Pyke, I'll simply kill him while his back is turned, but he doesn't have to know that_.'

"I see what you get out of this offer, Balon," the sorcerer rumbled. "But I fail to see how such an offer benefits me. Especially as I would have to be the one to do all the work, and you would be the one to reap all the rewards. Why should I even begin to entertain this offer from you?"

"Because, through me, you will raise far above your current station," Balon said greedily. '_I have him; hook and line. Now I just need to add the sinker and it will be done_.' "Once the mainland is under my – _our_ – control, I will name you Warden of whichever plot of land you wish. And I will give you my daughter at your feet to do with as you wish. Be it a salt wife, rock wife, or just something to take out and play with once and a while. She will be yours to do with as you please."

The sorcerer's head turned down towards his daughter, who was glaring back at Balon with anger and betrayal written across her face. "Your daughter doesn't seem pleased with your offer, Greyjoy."

Balon merely shrugged. "She is a woman. She has a good head on her shoulders, it is true. And she can fight as well – or almost as well – as boys her age. But in the end, she is still a woman, and this is her purpose. Well, sorcerer, what do you say? Do we have a deal, so—?"

Coughing, Balon reached up to rub at his throat. But as he did, his throat closed. It felt as if something invisible had taken hold of him and was squeezing his throat. Gasping desperately for air, Balon fell to his knees, clutching at his throat as he tried to remove whatever it was that had a hold of him. Looking around the hall, he tried to call out for help, but no one came. His brothers were both standing completely still as they watched him struggle to breathe. The men around the room were refusing to meet his eyes as they tried to stay as insignificant as possible. Lastly, his eyes desperately sought out his daughter. But Asha… Asha was just watching him struggle with the slightest of smiles on her face.

Lastly, his eyes went to the sorcerer. Who had his hand held up, cupped as if he were gripping something? '_How?!_' Balon thought desperately as he struggled to get even the smallest amount of air into his lungs. His vision was quickly starting to darken as the world around him began to get fuzzy and incoherent. '_How is he doing this?!_'

"Be careful that you don't…choke on your ambitions, Greyjoy." Somehow, the sorcerer's words managed to pierce the darkening fuzzy of his mind. Then, finally, the pressure let off of his throat, and Balon collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, greedily sucking in air.

"What…the…fuc—"

Balon had been flogged in the past. He'd been beaten bloody by the Captain of the first ship he'd served on for overstepping his bounds. But never had he felt anything like what happened next. There was a flash of light, and then pain shot through every part of his body. He could hear…someone screaming. Someone…that turned out to be himself. A scream he didn't even realize he'd given because the pain was so overbearing.

Without warning, the pain stopped. Gasping for air and trying to fight through it, Balon slowly tired to scoot backwards away from the sorcerer. Glancing around, he desperately sought out someone – _anyone!_ – to help him. But all fight had left his men in the face of the sorcerer. '_By the Drowned God…He has been blessed by the storm!_'

"You forgot something very vital when trying to make a deal, Greyjoy," the sorcerer's voice was deep and menacing as he advanced on Balon. "You need to have an advantage to hold your position. Right now, you have none. The only thing you can offer me is a plot of a land and your daughter to basically be my sex slave. The first I can get on my own. I need only ask. And the second… Well, I have never been one to force someone into my bed. I _never_ will take someone against their will. And, quite frankly, I find those that are willing to sell their daughters into such a life to be the lowest scum imaginable. Unworthy of the very air they breathe."

He felt something grab him around the chest, but when he looked, he found nothing. Even as he was hoisted up into the air like a sail on ship with his feet just barely off the ground, Balon still couldn't figure out just how this was happening. Or even what was happening to him.

The claw-like gauntlet of the sorcerer grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to stare into the unseeing eyes behind the man's helmet. '_Impossible! How, how can he see?!_' "Luckily for you, Balon, King Baratheon ordered me to bring you to him _alive_." Balon felt an undeniable surge of relief for a moment, but that moment passed quickly as the sorcerer's grip, both visible and invisible, tightened. "However, he failed to specify in _just what_ _shape_ you were to be in when I brought you to him. So, my advice to you, Balon, is to pray to your gods. For that is the only thing that you can do now."

* * *

Standing on the bridge on the mainland side of the Pyke, Ned Stark stared up at the fairly imposing sight of the Great Keep of the Pyke. It wasn't the structure itself that made it imposing, but rather it's layout. The only way to reach the Great Keep was to cross the large stone bridge that connected the keep to the mainland. The problem was that the bridge had no cover and the Great Keep had more than a few places that Ned could spot that could easily hide archers or scorpions.

"Well, the gatehouse fell quickly enough," Robert sighed, almost seemingly disappointed with just how…simple the siege had been to this point. "I expected better of the Ironborn than this pathetic showing."

"I believe we have the sorcerer to thank for the low morale of the krakens, your grace," Lord Tywin said, standing on the other side of the Robert as the three men surveyed their next target. "If not for him and his initial assault, the fight would've been significantly more difficult. However, without him with us, the taking of the Great Keep will be costly."

"Yeah, you're right on that one, Tywin," Robert grumbled, spitting off the side. "Well, Ned, where the fuck is that fucking sorcerer of yours? I'm sure he could take this fucking keep just as easily as he took the damned gatehouse."

Ned felt something, a stirring of the wolfsblood. Something—no, _someone_ was coming towards them from within the Great Keep. And Ned only knew of one individual that could cause such a sensation within the blood. "I do not believe we will have to worry about that, your grace," Ned stated, pointing towards the Great Keep. "If I am not mistaken, I believe that the Greyjoys have already fallen."

Before either Robert or Tywin could question him, one of the shuttered windows over twenty feet directly above the stone bridge flew open as one, then another, and then a third body were thrown out of the window and down to the stone bridge below. Looking back up towards the open window, the two Lords and King watched as Nox's frame filled the opening. Then, as if he didn't care about the distance, Nox simply stepped off the edge and dropped down to the bridge, his fall slowing unnaturally at the last possible moment and allowing him to land as gracefully and quietly as a cat.

"Well…pay me a gold fucking dragon and call me a whore," Robert grumbled, shaking his head. "The fucker apparently did it. Well, what the hell we waiting for, eh? Barristan! Kingslayer! Get your useless fucking asses up here already!"

At the name, Ned saw the quick look of contempt Tywin gave him before the Lord of the Westerlands focused forward and proceeded to ignore him. Ned regretted many things in his life, and one thing he _mildly_ regretted was giving Ser Jamie the moniker that had stuck with him. The man had killed the king he was sworn to, so he'd earned the title. But at the same time no one, not even Ned, had ever actually questioned why the man had done what he did. Not that Kingslayer even seemed of mind to tell them even if they had. The man didn't seem to simply care what he had done nor what people called him behind and in front of him. And his uncaring attitude, not to mention Ned's feeling of being robbed of the justice that he was due, was what stayed his tongue.

With the two Kingsguard in front of them, along with over two dozen knights of House Baratheon forming a shield wall in front of the King, he, Lord Tywin, and Ned made their way across the stone bridge towards the sorcerer. As they drew close, Ned noticed something strange about Nox. He had a sword pummel sticking out over his right shoulder. A sword that Ned knew full well Nox didn't have at the start of the battle. '_Nox never carried a sword before. He has no need of one with the…lightsaber he carries. So, why does he carry one now?_'

"Well, sorcerer," Robert called out, pushing his way past the Kingsguard and his men to stand before Nox and his three prisoners. "Where the fuck have you been? And who the fuck are these three sods?"

Reaching up, Nox disengaged his mask from his face, the metal making a strange hiss as it released, revealing his face to all. '_Gods, he doesn't even look tired after all of this? Just how powerful is he?_' "Your grace," Nox responded, bowing his head slightly in a show of respect. "I've been winning this war for you and your men. And as for these three, may I present to you Balon, Euron and Victarion Greyjoy. Alive and in one piece, as requested… Well…_mostly_ one piece."

Looking down at the three prisoners, whose arms were shackled with what looked like metal rings that'd been repurposed and bent around their arms, Ned took note of their condition. Each man was not in good shape. Euron had a seared slash across his face that had clearly destroyed one of his eyes, the wound more than likely from Nox's lightsaber. Victarion was battered and bruised and was missing an arm. And for Balon, the Lord of the Pyke's neck was starting to bruise and was twitching periodically as if he couldn't fully control his body. '_Gods…Perhaps Robert should've been more specific about what condition he wanted the Greyjoys to be delivered to him in. Although, I can't find it in myself to pity them. Not after all of the innocent deaths they've caused in this ill-conceived rebellion of theirs_.'

"Fucking hells, sorcerer," Robert chuckled, looking the three prisoners over. "If you keep this shit up, I might just have to find a spot for you in my council, despite your Valyrian looks."

Nox merely nodded as he took a step back. "I gave you my word that I would see this war over quickly, your grace. And I'm a man of my word."

"That you are," Robert nodded before stepping up to Balon Greyjoy. The Lord the Pyke was still twitching slightly as Robert squatted down in front of the would-be King. "Well, Greyjoy, here we are. I would love to know what possibly made you think that you could say 'fuck you' to me in a such a fashion. But truth is I don't care. You've fucked up, and now you're going to pay for it."

Balon glared hatefully at Robert for a full minute, and then he started chuckling. A low growling noise that quickly grew to a full laugh. "You think you've won? _Ha!_ What a fucking _joke!_" Balon spat. "This victory is not yours, Robert! You had nothing to do with it! This is all because of…him. The sorcerer fuck that your pet dog has on a leash! And, even then, you still haven't won! Because before you leave my island, you will come to me on your hands and knees begging for me to take my fucking crown back, you whore-mongering drunkard!"

Ned cast a quick look towards his King and friend. Robert's face was starting to turn red as he glared at Balon. "Sorcerer…this piece of shit is talking. Shut him up for me."

"As you wish."

The moment Robert gave the command, Nox idly pointed a finger towards Balon. A small bolt of lightning, almost insignificant compared to the bolt he'd summoned at the start of the battle, shot forth out of his finger and hit Balon in the chest. The Lord of the Pyke screamed in agony, an ungodly sound that Ned was sure would haunt his dreams for nights to come. The torture, for that was what it was, lasted for only a moment before Nox let go of his attack and Balon slummed forward, his body twitching.

'_So that is why…How many times did Nox use that…magic against him before he brought him to Robert?_' As a rule, Ned despised torture, especially after what happened to his father and brother, but he wasn't a fool. He knew that as a Lord – and especially a King – sometimes you needed to go to extreme lengths. He himself had ordered a few men tortured since his ascension to Warden of the North. But while he might understand its usage, it didn't mean he liked it in the least.

Robert seemed surprised, but even more than slightly pleased at seeing the Lord of the Pyke and leader of the Greyjoy Rebellion suffering so. And as for Lord Tywin, the man was completely stone faced. But Ned could see the interest clear as day in the Warden of the West's eyes. '_I cannot let Nox fall into his hands. No doubt Tywin will offer him something in the future to try and tempt him into his service. But I cannot let that happen. I'll need to think of how Tywin might approach him, and what I can do to counter any offer that Tywin will give him_.'

"Huh, well, that's one way to shut him up," Robert chuckled, leaning over the twitching Greyjoy. "Now, Balon, kneel. Your fleet is destroyed, and your army scattered. You have nothing left. Kneel, and I will show you and your family mercy."

Glaring up with hate-filled eyes, Balon spat at Robert's feet. "I will never kneel to you! You've already lost! You just don't know it yet! But soon…oh, so soon, you will know! Perhaps I'll order you to kill this fucking sorcerer first before you give me back my crown!"

Scoffing, Robert stood back up. "I don't fucking play games, Greyjoy. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh, how forgetful of me," Nox suddenly spoke up as he began patting at the outside of his clothes and armor before reaching into the inner recesses of his robes. Ned may not have known him for long, but he did recognize when Nox was doing something for performance's sake. And this was such a time. "Ah, here it is!"

Withdrawing his hand, Ned saw he had a raven's scroll in his hand. He couldn't make out the emblem on the scroll as Nox handed it off to Robert, but Ned had a feeling he knew what contents of the scroll were. "The night before our forces arrived at the walls of the Pyke, I made a trip back to Lordsport. When I arrived, the Maester of Lordsport informed me that he'd just received a raven from Dragonstone, and I offered to take the message to you."

Breaking open the seal, Robert unrolled the small scroll and read its contents. His eyes grew wider and wider with each word read, and by the end his eyes were as wide as Ned had ever seen them and his face was an impressive shade of red. "Kingslayer!" Robert bellowed. "Get my brother Stannis here now!"

Ser Jamie, sensing Robert's clear displeasure, immediately set off to do as commanded. While he did, Balon's smile grew even wider and Ned could swear he could feel the sensation of victory coming off the man. "Are you going to beg ye—?"

"Sorcerer," Robert cut in, making Balon quiet with the one word. "He opens his mouth again, do that lightning thing again. Only next time hold him under for twice as long. And each time he opens his mouth again, hold him under for even longer."

Within minutes of being sent away, Ser Jamie returned with Lord Stannis is tow. "Your grace," Stannis bow slightly as he approached. "You sent fo—"

"Read this!" Robert demanded, thrusting the raven scroll at his brother. "And then tell me how the fuck you missed this!"

As Stannis read the raven, his expression remained the same. But just like how he could sense victory coming from Balon, the wolfsblood was telling him that Stannis was angry. A burning anger that could rival Robert any day. "And you, Ned," Robert continued, rounding on him. "How the fuck did you know to send the Manderly fleet south to help reinforce the few ships Jon had stationed in the bay?!"

The sense of victory fluttered within Balon, replaced by one of concern.

"Your grace," Lord Tywin cut in, clearly not pleased with not knowing what was happening. "What does the raven say your grace?"

"The Greyjoys hid a dozen ships along the eastern shore," Stannis answered before Robert could. "The moment the Royal Fleet was well and truly clear of the waters, they launched an assault on Dragonstone. An assault that was broken by the timely arrival of the Manderly fleet, who took the Ironborn by surprise and managed to sink or capture every ship that made up the fleet. The captains were then put to the question. And it was discovered that the Ironborn were tasked with the infiltration of Dragonstone to…to…"

Stannis's anger clearly started to get the better of him as he couldn't finish what he'd been saying. But he didn't need to, as Robert continued for him. "They were sent to take Shireen, my fucking niece and a babe, hostage!" Robert spat. "And then they were to try and infiltrate King's Landings and try to take one of _my_ fucking children as well!"

Balon's face paled at the news of his assault having failed while Tywin's eyes narrowed. "The attackers were fully routed then?" Tywin half asked half demanded.

"Yes, thanks to the Manderlys," Robert nodded, turning once more to Ned. "Alright, Ned, how the fuck did you know they were going to do that?"

"I didn't," Ned answered honestly, surprising everyone as he motioned towards Nox. "Master Nox strategized that the Ironborn could not defeat our armies through conventional means. So, he reasoned that they had an alternative means to achieve their goal. And after studying the initial assaults, he theorized that they would be after Lord Stannis's daughter or your own children, your grace."

Robert stared at him for some time, weighing his words before turning to Nox. "Well, sorcerer, it seems you've more than proven your worth so far. You ended the siege of the Pyke in less than a fucking day and figured out a plot that none of our most skilled battle commanders, including myself, could see. The crown owes you a debt, it would seem." Pausing, Robert took a moment to consider Nox. "That sword over your shoulder. You weren't wearing it before. Where did you get it?"

Reaching over his shoulder, Nox drew the sword out of its sheath. The moment the blade was clear, everyone knew what it was. The distinctive red tint and rippled patterns along the blade clear as day. "Valyrian steel," Lord Tywin stated, his eyes growing hungry as a wave of pure desire emerged from the stoic man. "Red Rain, the ancestral sword of House Drumm. Lord Dunstan Drumm would not have parted with the blade willingly."

"He didn't," Nox answered simply.

Seeming to come to a decision, Robert approached Nox. "Honor dictates that such blades should be ransomed back to their Houses once the war is over. However, as the Ironborn decided to rebel, including House Drumm, not to mention trying such a backhanded tactic like kidnapping my niece or children, a plot you smelt out, you can keep the blade. Consider it payment for your services."

Ned highly doubted that Nox would've given the blade back in the first place, which would've caused more than a few problems. But now with Robert's decree, none could argue with Nox taking the weapon. Although judging by the hungry look from Lord Tywin, Ned was sure the sorcerer would not be able to escape the island without receiving at least half a dozen offers and requests for the blade.

"You have my thanks, your grace," Nox nodded, returning the blade to its sheath before nodding towards the defeated Greyjoys. "Now, what about these three? Want me to kill them?"

The almost causal way he suggested executing the three men nearly made Ned do a double take. '_He—He couldn't mean it? Could he? I can't sense anything from him…so I honestly don't know if he was being serious or not on the offer_.'

Robert however waved the offer off. "No. No need for that. They're defeated. But that doesn't mean they're going to get off lightly. Even more so now that you tried that fucking stunt with my niece and children! So, here's what you're going to do, Greyjoy. For each ship that was destroyed, you will fucking replace them with ships of your own or your own gold. You lost one son to my brother around Seagard, right? What does that leave you with? Three children?"

"Two, your grace," Nox interjected, drawing everyone's attention. "Unfortunately, his eldest decided to try and run his blade through my back. He didn't survive the attempt."

"Two then," Robert nodded. "A son and a daughter, right? Both will be wards of the North until they turn twenty. At which point they will be returned to you. Perhaps they can actually learn some fucking honor if they live with the most honorable man I know. Right, Ned?"

Ned wanted to protest but knew he couldn't. Robert had made his decree, and all he could do was accept it. "As you wish, your grace," Ned nodded.

"Good," Robert nodded before turning back to Balon. "Now, swear your allegiance to the Iron Throne and me again, you useless cunt. Before I decide to toss your ass over this bridge."

"A moment, your grace," Nox said, stepping forward before Balon could retake his oath.

"What is it, sorcerer?" Robert asked, clearly displeased with being interrupted. "You've been paid for your services."

"Yes, and I appreciate your generosity. And I seek to aid where I can." Nox acknowledged. "I will preference my words with the knowledge that I am still new to these lands. But, in my homeland, we are no strangers to dissidents. Dissidents that are put down fast and made an example of to prevent others from following in their footsteps. Children to be raised as wards, taxes increased, and ships confiscated. These are things that in a short time, perhaps a decade or less, will be forgotten. Others will see this and take note. They'll begin to weigh the risks associated with rebelling against you again, and conclude that they are not that steep. Your grace might wish to make a more…permanent reminder."

Ned did not necessarily like where Nox was going with this. Even more so when he could see approval in Lord Tywin's eyes at what Nox had said. It wasn't honorable. The Greyjoys had surrendered. There was no need to escalate things further. But Robert, and even Stannis, seemed to be considering his words. "What do you have in mind?" Robert asked, much to Ned's dismay.

Nox turned to the three kneeling men. "Killing them would be too easy for them. However, simply exterminating their House would leave a power vacuum here in the Iron Islands as the Lords would begin a new war to claim dominance. So, an alternative. Under their orders, the Iron Fleet raided Lannisport, Seagard, Barrowton, and four other settlements on the Reach's coast, making seven in total. Eight, if you wish to include Dragonstone. Eight settlements raided. Eight cuts upon their flesh. A constant reminder both to themselves and others of what will happen they choose the path of violence again."

Scratching at his beard, Robert considered the suggestion for all of a few seconds before nodding. "Sounds fair. Kingslayer, Barristan. Get Lord Greyjoy to his feet and strip him of his armor." The two Kingsgaurd complied without question, grabbing Balon under the arms and hoisting him to his feet before removing his chest piece and tearing off his shirt, exposing his chest and back to the king. "Well, sorcerer, you made the suggestion and you're serving the Starks now. So, what's that saying in the North, Ned? 'The man who passes the sentence swings the sword'? So, you'll do this. And if he dies, then so too shall you."

If Robert expected Nox to revoke his suggestion, it failed. "As you wish," Nox complied stepping in front of Balon. "Lord Tywin. Lannisport was hit the hardest of the towns and villages raided. For justice to your people, I would use your dagger. My lightsaber is not delicate enough for what is about to happen. And I have not had practice with this sword yet to truly use it effectively."

Without a word, Lord Tywin immediately pulled out the dagger from his waist and held it out hilt first towards Nox. "Thank you, my Lord," Nox nodded, taking the offered dagger before spinning the blade around his hand and through his fingers as if he were in a mummer's show. "This is a good blade."

He moved in a blur of motion that Ned could hardly follow. Within the space of a heartbeat, Balon's chest was marred with six deep cuts. Deep, yet nonfatal from what Ned could tell. The last two cuts were delivered to Balon's face. One cutting diagonally from hairline to the opposite cheek across his nose. And the last was delivered vertically, from ear to the corner of his mouth. '_Every time I think he cannot surprise me again, he does so_.' Ned thought, frowning as he took in Balon's bleeding form. '_To move so fast and with such accuracy to inflict the most damage yet to avoid a fatal injury… Just what type of training did he endure? And what type of training have I resigned Jon and Robb too?_'

"Well, that's a statement huh?" Robert gaffed, taking in Balon's bleeding form. "Someone fix this fucker up and then he'll swear his allegiance back to the crown. And someone break out the ale and whores! It's time to do the two best things after winning a battle! Fucking and drinking!"

The men around them, save for Nox, Tywin, Stannis, and Ned, all cheered as the King turned his back on the bleeding Balon and made his way towards the Great Keep of the Pyke. Stannis was quick to follow his brother, with Tywin and the Kingsguard close on their heels. The servants arrived quickly and, under escort of a mixture of Baratheon, Lannister, and Stark men-at-arms. Ned however didn't move. He remained on the bridge. As too did Nox.

Soon enough, the two were alone as could be on the bridge, with the nearest man well out of hearing range. "You don't approve, Lord Stark."

Frowning, Ned's eyes flickered down to the small pool of blood. Balon's blood. "There was no honor in what you did," Ned stated. "He was defeated."

Nox didn't say anything as he turned his unseeing eyes towards the ocean. "Tell me, Lord Stark, what is the sigil of your House?"

Taken slightly aback, Ned answered immediately. "The direwolf."

"And tell me, Lord Stark, when the pack is threatened, does the direwolf merely slap the ones who threatened them on the wrist and think they will just go away? Or do they destroy all threats to their pack?"

"There is a difference," Ned countered. "They are beasts. And we are men."

"Yes, that is true," Nox conceded. "But the idea is sound. Do you truly think your ancestors were able to conquer – let alone _hold_ – a land as vast and as inhospitable as the North by simply patting everyone who dared to go against them on the head and sending them to bed without dinner? No, it took more than a wolf to conquer and hold the North. It took a _direwolf_. One who will do whatever is necessarily to protect those within its pack. And one willing to do whatever is necessarily to keep anyone from threatening said pack."

Turning on his heel, Nox took two steps towards the Great Keep before stopping. "Honor has its place, to be sure. But I have seen honor get the better of many and make them blind to the world around them. And when that narrow world they erected around themselves was brought low, _they_ were not the only ones to suffer for their mistakes. Be a wolf, Lord Stark. Not a stag, nor a falcon, nor a trout. No, not even a wolf. Be more than a wolf. Be a _direwolf_. For winter is coming for us all. And when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."

And with that, Nox left Ned on the bridge overlooking the Pyke. His words cutting deep into the Warden of the North. '_How… How does he know that saying?_' Ned thought, reflecting on the last bit of Nox's speech. '_Those words… They were spoken by father just before I was sent off to the Eyre. I thought I knew what they meant, but…Could my father have meant something else? Was he trying to tell me something before I headed off to the Eyre? If so…what?_'

With a more than slightly troubled mind, Ned made his way into the great hall to join in the celebrations. Though he knew it would not be a joyous occasion for himself.

* * *

It took far longer than he would've liked after the Ironborn had been brought to heel and Balon Greyjoy forced to once again give his oath of servitude to the Iron Throne. But nearly a month after the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, Lord Tywin Lannister, head of House Lannister, Warden of the West, and father of the Queen, finally found himself back in his solar in the great castle of Casterly Rock. He'd been received, as decorum required, by the steward he'd left in charge and his son Tyrion at the Lion's Mouth, the cavern that gave entry to the small mountain upon which the ancestral seat of House Lannister sat. During the ride, Tyrion had informed him of any developments that'd transpired during his absence, which thankfully there were none truly of note.

Truthfully, Tywin cared little for the current going's or the most recent gossip within the castle. There was only one thing Tywin truly wanted to know about. And thankfully Tyrion apparently possessed enough of a mind to wait until they were in private to discuss the matter of the Northern Sorcerer, Nox. But for what awaited Tywin within his solar, Tyrion's solution was not what Tywin expected. Nor what he wanted to see.

"I gave you a single task while I was at war with the King putting down the Greyjoy Rebellion," Tywin just barely kept himself from growling at his son, who was sitting in the chair across the desk from him in his solar with a smile on his face as if he'd done something incredibly clever. "And you present me with these…whores."

To their credit, neither woman standing behind his son recoiled at his tone nor the name. '_They are not meek. A small consolation, all things considered_.'

His son didn't appear to be off put by his tone either. If anything, that infuriating smirk of his grew only larger. "But father, I have done exactly as you requested. These two beauties behind me are my answer to the task you assigned to me. And I must say, it was quite a confusing task to say the least. You never cared about the goings on of the wolves, but now you do. I can't help but wonder why that is?"

Resting his elbows on his desk, his gaze went from his son to the two whores standing behind him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Tyrion, as galling as it was to admit, might have had a decent idea. Neither whore had the look of a woman from the Westerlands, their hair dark of color, their skin pale and their faces more round instead of angular. Perhaps…Perhaps the idea had some merit. But he was not ready to concede the point just yet.

"Leave the room. But do not venture beyond sight of the door," he ordered the two whores, who immediately bowed to him and left the room, leaving Tywin alone with Tyrion.

"Explain your plan." Tywin ordered his son the moment the door shut behind the two.

His smirk still in place, Tyrion lounged back in his chair. "It's simple, father. I take it that you want information. And whores, if one cares to look, are a wealth of information. For men's lips are often more lax than they normal are after enjoying their services. One of the whores will travel to Torrhen's Square and the other will ply her trade in Winter Town just outside of Winterfell. The two will communicate with one another, with the one in Winter Town passing information to the one in Torrhen's Square. To get the information, we will simply reroute the ship that takes prisoners that've elected to take the Black to Torrhen's Square, where the whore will deliver the information to the captain of the vessel, a man we trust. That information will then be brought back to us. We may have to increase the number of times we make the trip to deliver prisoners, or perhaps find a reason to trade with the North. But this would be the quickest way to get the information you so desire. Although, it would be beneficial if I could inform the ladies what exactly it is that you are looking for."

Leaning back, Tywin thought the plan over in his mind. It was relatively solid. A way to put a spy in Winterfell without putting one in Winterfell. And his son was right, weaker men often had loose lips when it came to whores. And he had even devised a method to pass information to and from the spies. But still, he was not willing to admit Tyrion had completed his assigned task just yet.

"And what of their loyalty to us?" He asked, fixing Tyrion with a look. "I need not remind you that a whore's loyalty is to the one who holds the most coin, do I?"

He could see genuine anger in Tyrion's eyes at the reminder of the whore he'd taken for a wife. A union Tywin had turned into an example and lesson.

"No," Tyrion replied. "You've made that point painfully clear already, father. And we will have their loyalty. Unquestioned loyalty. For not only can we out pay anything the Starks – or any Northern House – could offer, we will be holding something each hold dear. One has a sister and the other a brother, both younger. With your blessing, the brother will be initiated into the guards here at Casterly Rock, and the sister will be sent to the kitchens to work as a scullery maid. Perhaps not the most glamorous of rewards, but each girl does not want what remains of their family to have to follow them into their chosen profession. And they both understand the price of betraying the confidence of House Lannister."

Rising from his seat, Tywin passed his son by and went to a shelf next to the window that overlooked the Sunset Sea. Pulling down a dozen scrolls, he made his way back to his desk and set the dozen scrolls down in front of Tyrion. "The whores will be your responsibility. So too shall it fall to you to see our threat followed through upon should they break faith with House Lannister." He stated, taking his seat before motioning towards the scrolls. "These are tax reports from some of our lesser lords for last year and the year prior. You will go over each and look for any discrepancy. Should you find one, you will come up with an appropriate action to take and present it to me along with your findings."

The cocky smirk faded from Tyrion's face as he looked down at the scrolls. "I – I will see it done," Tyrion swallowed heavily. After a moment, he looked back up to his father with a searching gaze. "Although, I feel it would benefit our search for information if I could inform the girls what exactly you are looking for."

Folding his hands, he met Tyrion's mismatched eyes. "Lord Stark has recently gained the allegiance of…a foreigner. I need every scrap of information that the whores can find out about him in order to present him with an offer that will take him away from the wolves and ensure his loyalty to House Lannister alone."

Tyrion's eyes narrowed in confusion. "All of this because Lord Stark has gained the allegiance of some foreigner? He must be quite the fighter for you to go through all of this just to try and change his allegiance to us. Is he stronger than the Mountain? Or perhaps more skilled with a blade than Jamie?"

"Both and neither," Tywin answered. "The man is a sorcerer."

He didn't have to wait long for the rebuttal that he knew was coming. "Forgive me, father, but I think I might've misheard what you just said."

"No, you didn't. You heard me correctly. The Starks have a sorcerer serving under their banner. A sorcerer that I intend to coax to serve House Lannister."

Tyrion merely shook his head. "I didn't think you were one for tales of grumpkins and snarks, father."

"I am not. But I believe what I see with my own eyes." Leaning forward, he made sure he had Tyrion's undivided attention before continuing. "I watched as a blind man killed four of Ser Armory Lorch's men with his bare hands. I watched as after the last man fell, Ser Lorch was crushed to death in his armor by an invisible force before being beheaded by a blade made of fire. I watched as that same man summoned lightning and thunder from his hands powerful enough to fell the walls of the Pyke with a single strike. And I witnessed that same man made his way unscathed through the Pyke, killing all in his path, capture the Greyjoys, and then bring them bound and broken before the King."

Pausing for a moment, he let his words sink in before continuing. "And if his power wasn't enough, he is intelligent. And politically knowledgeable to give even myself a challenge. He managed to arrange events within moments of stepping off the boat so that he could brutally kill five Westerland men right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do and no legal way to seek retribution. And he also, without having ever met nor fought against the Ironborn, deciphered a plot they had hatched simply by looking at a map and tracking their movements. A trap he in turn decimated with the aid of Lord Stark, earning the favor of the King. And he also has the look of one borne of Valyria, yet he claims not to hail from those cursed lands. Nor does he claim any kinship with the surviving Targaryens. A tale that the King, Stark, Stannis, and I are willing to accept. Now, do I need to explain to you further why this man needs to be securely under our control?"

"…No, father," Tyrion replied after sitting in stunned silence. "Should we instruct the girl that will be sent to Winterfell to seduce him? She is quite good. She can do this thing with her tongue where she licks the underside of your coc—"

"I do not need to hear tales of your debauchery and shaming of our noble House." Tywin cut in harshly. "And no. The whores will not seek the sorcerer out unless he comes to them first. We are working with a very limited amount of information at the moment. And as such, we do not know the full extent of his powers. Until we know more, they will not seek him out. Is that clear?"

"Yes, father," Tyrion nodded before rising to his feet and collecting the tax reports. "If that will be all, father, I will send the girls on their way and begin work on this."

"Good, now go," Tywin responded, waving Tyrion away. "And send for the Maester Creylen. I have need of him."

"As you wish, father," Tyrion bowed awkwardly before shuffling out of the room, scrolls tucked firmly under his arm.

'_He performed far better with the task than I thought,_' Tywin thought as he sat and waited for the Maester of Casterly Rock. '_But that still does not mean anything yet. I know there are three discrepancies in the tax reports I gave him. We will see if he truly is clever enough to spot them or not. And if he has the ability to do what is necessary to make sure our bannermen do not believe they can keep our due from us_.'

Soon after Tyrion left, Tywin heard a light knocking on his solar door. "My lord, you sent for me?" Maester Creylen called out, shuffling his old frame into the solar.

'_I need to request a new Maester from the Citadel. Creylen has served House Lannister since my father's tenure, which is reason enough to get rid of him_.' Tywin thought as he watched the elderly man slowly make his way towards him. '_But more so, a lame Maester who can barely do his duties is of no use to me_.'

"Yes, I did, Maester," Tywin nodded. "Tell me. You have your link in animal husbandry, do you not?"

Creylen blinked and nodded. "Yes, I have my lord. Why do you ask?"

"Tell me," Tywin said, leaning forward on his elbows once more. "From what region would I have to enquire in order to procure a bantha?"

* * *

Making his way into the meeting hall within the uppermost level of the Citadel, Archmaester Ebrose took stock of the Maester that were seated around the table within the small hall. These five men, along with himself made up less than half of the Archmaesters currently in the Citadel, but to Ebrose, they were the most important. For each Archmaester present was responsible for leading their own sect within the Order, quietly known as the Guiding Hand, the _true_ Maesters. The men responsible for guiding the land of Westeros into a new age of enlightenment and peace. A goal that had been nearly obtained. Until recently.

Taking his seat, Ebrose met the eye of each of his fellow Archmaesters one at a time before setting on Ryam. "Archmaester Ryam, do you have word from the Iron Islands?"

"Yes," Ryam replied, looking more than slightly uncomfortable. "Both the good and the bad. The Ironborn are defeated. And unfortunately, the Maester assigned to the Pyke was killed during the assault."

"Good riddance," Archmaster Castos cut in dismissively. "The Maester we sent there was the very definition of incompetence. That was _why_ he was sent to the Iron Islands in the first place."

"Yes, but with his death we are now forced to fill his vacant position," Archmaester Agrivane stated. "In times past, the Islands may have served as a decent location to drop the less desirable of our order. However, with the King's new proclamation and…Stark raising the future heir of the Iron Islands, perhaps it is time we rethink that mentality. Perhaps a new initiate in the Guiding Hand should be sent instead of just the dregs of the Maester Order?"

"I agree with Archmaester Agrivance," Archmaester Benedict said. "Despite where the children of the kraken are being raised, we may not have a better chance of bringing enlightenment to the Iron Islands. Such a situation needs to be handled delicately."

"The status of the Maester within Pyke is not why you called this meeting, Archmaester Ebrose," Archmaester Sandhu cut in with an impatient glare. "It was because of the tales of this so-called 'Northern Sorcerer'. Well, Ryam, have your sources been able to disprove this man's supposed abilities?"

Ryam's face scrunched as he shook his head. "No, they have not. In fact, they have done the exact opposite. I've received word from over a dozen sources, all with unknown ties to our order, and they have all told the exact same tale. The Starks truly have gained the loyalty of a sorcerer. And a powerful one at that."

That was the last thing Ebrose, or indeed any of the Archmaesters present, wanted to hear. He was sure that Marwyn 'the mage' would be overjoyed to hear of such powers still existence. But such powers went against everything the Order of the Guiding Hand stood for. Their predecessors had been working to unify the lands of Westeros into a new age of order since before the Doom of Valyria. And after the Targaryens managed to unite the lands, the Order changed their objective. The Targaryens had been useful to unite the lands, but they did so by using dragons and magic. Things that were not in the vision of the future the Order wanted. Despite their misgivings with it, the Maesters, including the Order of the Guiding Hand, didn't hate magic. Not like the Faith did. No, to them, magic represented what they were fighting against. For magic in is basic form was chaos. Pure unadulterated, uncontrollable chaos. And that was not something that was needed nor wanted in their visions for the future.

It'd taken years, centuries in fact, but eventually they managed to cripple the dragons through forced encampment in the dragonpit and with the usage of poisons. And once the Targaryens lost the last of their dragons, it wasn't long before the madness that plagued the family took hold and they were ousted from their position. A madness that was easily avoidable if only the fools didn't interbreed so much.

The inbreeding of the Targaryens to madness had been one of the more successful endeavors of the Order, almost on par with the ending of the dragons. Through very selective removal of books, the Order managed to paint the illusion that the reasons why the Targaryens couldn't hatch their dragons was because of impure blood, which wasn't the case at all. Incest, according to a few of the more well secured tomes in the Citadel, was relatively rare in the land of Valyria. And was only done to keep the noble lines free from commoner blood. Much like the practice here in Westeros. But the Targaryens bought the lie and began to attempt to 'purify' their bloodline by breeding exclusively within family, which brought instability into their line. The perfect slow death. The only pity was that it took so long for the nobles and smallfolk of Westeros to grow tired of the dragons' madness enough to revolt. And even then, the revolt only truly took place because of the carefully whispered words of Grandmaester Pycelle into the ear of the Mad King about who to choose as House Targaryen's champion during Lord Stark's trial by combat.

And now, after centuries, the Order of the Guiding Hand were finally free of the Targaryens and their magic and dragons with a new king that was easy to lead around. All they had to do was dangle a jug of wine or provide him with a whore, and he would do whatever they wanted. But now, now their endgame was threatened by the untimely arrival of this…_sorcerer_. And in the worst possible location as well.

Had he made himself known in the South, the Faith of the Seven would've taken care of him for them. Their hatred of magic was well known to all. But instead, he arrived in the land of the First Men, the land unconquered by the Andals. The only worse scenario would've been if he'd arrived in Dorne and encouraged the Martells to rise against the Baratheons in revenge for the death of Elia and her children.

"And what has been the King's response according to Pycelle?" Ebrose asked, looking towards Agrivane, who served as Pycelle's primary contact within the Order of the Guiding Hand. "

"Mixed," Agrivane informed them. "While he's impressed with what the man managed to accomplish and is in slight awe over his abilities, the fact that the man looks like he is a descendent of the dragon lords has made the king wary of the sorcerer. Not as much as we wanted, but he is still wary."

"Inform Pycelle that he is to try and encourage these fears," Ebrose commanded. "If he can plant the idea that the sorcerer is poisoning the mind of his dear friend and brother, Eddard Stark, against him and his throne, the king might take care of our problem for us."

"I will see it done," Agrivane nodded.

"But that will take time. Time we do not have, not when we are so close!" Sandhu nearly shouted, his anger at having their plans foiled at such late stage clear.

"Patience, Sandhu," Ebrose said, trying to placate the man. "Our Order has been working for centuries on our designs. We managed to help unify the lands, gotten rid of the dragons, and helped to oust the Targaryens. By comparison, this sorcerer is but a slight hiccup in our plans. One that can be removed easily if we are to be a little bit more patient."

"Perhaps then, we should begin the next phase of the 'plan'," Castos suggested, drawing attention back to himself. "It is far past time for the next part to come to fruition. And if we play it correctly, then we might be able to tie the removal of this sorcerer in with the next phase."

"And it will also give us the time to bleed some more information from him as well," Benedict nodded, earning some curious stares from his companions. "According to a very cryptic raven sent to use by Maester Luwin, apparently the sorcerer has a wealth of knowledge beyond just the mystic arts. He could provide us with some advancements that can be tested out in the North, away from the civilized world. And then possibly integrated if they are proven to work."

Ebrose nodded. "See to it that it is done. Archmaester Castos, as it was your idea to tie the sorcerer into the next phase, I want to see your altered version on how to do that within the next month."

"Of course," Castos nodded. "Such an alteration to the plan might delay it by a few years as it will require a very specific set of circumstances as well as the careful positioning of a few key players. But I feel that it will be doable."

"It would be easier if we had one loyal to the Guiding Hand in Winterfell." Ryam lamented. Before his untimely death, Maester Walys had also been a loyal member of the Order during his time in Winterfell. Maester Luwin unfortunately took his vows to the castle of Winterfell too seriously, which was why he was not inducted into the Order of the Guiding Hand.

"It would make things easier." Ebrose nodded. "Removing a Maester of Luwin's age does not have precedence. But from what I know of the man, Luwin will not accept being removed unless Lord Stark specifically orders him out, which is unlikely. Or he dies. Another scenario unlikely to happen, and I will not authorize the removal of such a capable member of our order. So, no, while it will be cumbersome, we will deal with the situation at hand as is. Gentlemen, we have our work cut out of us. Let us begin."

* * *

Standing on the balcony attached to her room high within the keep of Highgarden, Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns and unofficial ruler of the Reach, watched absentmindedly as the residents of Highgarden mulled about the castle grounds below her as they worked to return to their normal lives after returning from one of the shortest wars in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. '_The idiot pirates actually thought they could slap the lions in the face and say piss off to the 'Demon of the Trident'? Fools, all of them. But useful fools as their war has given the Reach the chance to confirm our allegiance to the new Baratheon regime. And we have done just that_.'

That was the one thing that Olenna truly feared about the war with the Ironborn. Not that the Ironborn would win, no, there was very little to no chance of that happening. No, what she was truly worried about was that her idiot of a son would do something or say something during the campaign that would once again paint the Reach and House Tyrell specifically in a bad light in front of the new King. But thankfully, despite offending Randyll Tarly yet again with his mouth, her son had actually managed to worm his way into the King's good graces enough to allow the Reach lords to finally make their appearance at the Stag court.

'_But House Tyrell will not be making an appearance. No, not yet. We cannot leave the Reach just yet. We need to reaffirm our hold over our vassal houses before we start making any plays for the Iron Throne_.'

Walking away from the balcony, she considered the map of the Reach that was held up on the wall of her room. '_Mace insulted Randyll during the Rebellion by claiming a victory that wasn't his. And now he just had to open his fat mouth again and antagonize one of our most powerful and influential Lords. Not to mention the most skilled military commander in the Reach. We will have to take some time to strengthen our hold, make the Lords realize what a mistake it would be to try and take House Tyrell's rightful place as Wardens of the South_.'

Marriage of course, was the easiest path to securing their hold. And Willas was old enough to be betrothed. And despite the damn viper crippling her grandson, he still had his looks, a good head on his shoulders, and the prestige of being the future Warden of the South. A fine catch for any noble lady despite his handicap. Garlan was another option, and while he was still a few years from being of age, he was starting to prove himself as a true knight of the realm, even if he hadn't been knighted yet.

'_We need to get in good with the Baratheons. That will halt any of our lords from thinking of usurping us. It would be easy enough to simply betroth Margaery to the crown prince…but the boy is still but a boy and Margaery still only a girl. And while that is the future we are aiming towards; we need to approach it carefully. So, no, Margaery will not be brought before the court just yet. She needs to flower, mature. Grow strong and beautiful. But then how…hmmm…yes. Yes, that could work_.'

Sitting down at her desk, she began to write up a draft to be sent to the King. '_Loras is of age to be a squire. The King won't take him. And even if he did, it would probably be as little more than a glorified cupbearer. Stannis hates anything and everything to do with our House thanks to how Mace postured and mocked him during the siege of Storm's End. So, that leaves one option: Renly. The boy is only a few years older than Loras, but the age difference is enough that Renly taking Loras as his squire would not be unheard of. Plus, Loras can begin to whisper in Renly's ear about Margaery's beauty and skill as a once those tales reach the King, from his brother's own lips, then Margaery will have a leg up on the other noble ladies of the realm_.'

After going through two separate drafts of the letter, Olenna was finally satisfied with the letter she'd written to the King. '_Enough ass-kissing in here to make me want to lose my lunch. But unfortunately, such things cannot be helped. We don't have the clout yet to be blunt with the King. So, ass-kissing it is. For now, at least_.'

Setting the letter aside, her thoughts turned once again as to how to reaffirm the Tyrell's hold on the Reach. And inadvertently, her thoughts drifted northwards. Towards the outlandish tale she'd heard not only from her oaf of a son, but from multiple other men of considerably brighter intellect that'd gone to the Iron Islands with her son. '_Lord Stark has an honest-to-Seven sorcerer under his control. I'm sure the Maesters are just loving that factoid. Their displeasure with magic is well known, especially here in the Reach in conjunction with the Faith of the Seven. They were perfectly willing to accept that magic died out with the last of the Targaryen dragons. But now, here we are. A sorcerer, alive and well. And in the land o the First Men no less. Oh, what I wouldn't give to see some of those 'knowledgeable men' squirm like little girls at the sight of spider_.'

At first, she hadn't believed her son's tales of the man's capabilities. But after talking to a few more _reputable_ sources, she discovered that her son had undersold the man's capabilities. '_I may not have the greatest mind for martial matters. But I know keeps. I know what it takes to claim one. And this sorcerer claimed Castle Pyke in less than a few hours. Partially on his own to boot. My, if only I were in my youth once more, I'd be ripping my dress off and offering to do whatever he wanted to gain even a fraction of that power_.'

Despite being a daughter of House Redwyne and a Lady of the Reach, Olenna was not religious in the slightest. Sure, she went to the Sept as a good lady of the realm should. But it was more lip service than anything. Religion had its place. But it could also heavily narrow one's viewpoint of the world around them. '_The Septon's will no doubt try to disavow anything to do with the man. But, luckily, he's safe in the North where the Seven have no hold. Well, besides the Sept in White Harbor and the tiny little thing Lord Stark built for his wife…and what a mistake that was. It'd be like planting a weirwood in the middle of the Great Sept of Baelor and expecting people to come pray before it. Gods only know what was passing through Stark's mind when he made that decision. No doubt Catelyn Tully's tits or cunt_.'

Shaking her head to refocus herself, Olenna forced out thoughts of Stark's marriage and back to the sorcerer. '_If House Tyrell could gain the favor of the sorcerer, then none would dare challenge us. Especially Tarly as he's seen what the man can do firsthand. But gaining his favor will be the trick. No doubt Tywin is already trying to create a scheme to do just that. There is no way that one like him would ever let an individual as powerful as this sorcerer slip away from him once he'd laid eyes on him. So... the question remains. How to gain his favor?_'

While she didn't know the man personally, or even at all, she did know the Starks. Or their reputation at least. '_It is through the Starks that we will gain his favor_,' Olenna decided, her mind wandering. '_But how to gain the favor of the Starks then? Betrothal? Lord Stark has a son of similar age…no. I will not give Margaery's hand to just anyone, even if that anyone is the future Warden of the North. And Stark's daughters are too young to be betrothed just yet. Maybe in a few years perhaps. But not now. Fostering? It has possibilities. But Willas and Garlan are both slightly beyond the time of fostering and Loras will hopefully soon be on his way to Storm's End. And I cannot send Margaery, I need that girl here so she can be properly raised. Perhaps we could foster one of Stark's daughters here in Highgarden? Yes…that might work. The eldest preferably to encourage a friendship between herself and Margaery, and even parade Willas in front of the girl like a prized peacock. Yes…that might just work_.'

Pausing in her musing, Olenna stared out at her balcony. '_But I cannot make the offer just yet. No. So soon after the reveal of the sorcerer, such a move will seem to be act of desperation for favor. And our bannermen would smell the weakness and begin circling Highgarden like the sharks they are. And the Starks have had little interaction with House Tyrell over the years. Mostly due to the North's preferred isolation to the rest of the land. But perhaps it's time to start bringing that isolation to an end? We'll start by working out new trade deals with the North. Deals that are slightly more favorable for the North but won't hurt the Reach in the slightest. And the Northmen have a fascination with the Wall. Those legends of theirs make it seem like it's more than just the glorified penal colony that it is. Perhaps encouraging more prisoners to take the Black or even a few second or third son's that have nowhere to go. Yes…yes. But it will require time. Time that I only hope we have. And time that I hope I won't regret wasting_.'

Pushing her correspondence to the king aside, she pulled out another sheet of paper. "Left, Right! Get in here."

The door to her room opened almost immediately as her two personal young guards entered the room. '_Ah, twin boys…handsome…strong. But unfortunately, not the brightest in the head. But still, if I was only younger…ah youth_.' "Left, get me more parchment and ink." She ordered. "And Right, bring me food and wine. I'm going to be working here all night. So, bring some extra candles as well. Now shoo."

* * *

Sitting at his desk in the Tower of the Hand in King's Landing, Jon Arryn, Warden of the East, Defender of the Vale, and Hand of the King stared down at a map of the Seven Kingdoms that was sprawled out across his desk. Across the map, each kingdom was represented with several figurines depicting each kingdom's potential strength and what they could provide to the royal regime. The map was much more favorable to Robert and the Baratheon royalty now than it had been before the Greyjoy Rebellion. A rebellion that had gone exactly as Jon had organized. Especially now after Robert's victorious return to the capital.

'_It took over two years while working through proxies of proxies_,' Jon thought disdainfully as he remembered just what he had had to go through in order to goad the Greyjoys without implicating himself as the one who'd been pulling the strings. '_But in the end, everything went exactly as planned. The Reach was now firmly back under the control of the crown and Robert was even allowing some of the Reach Lords back to court. Ned's and Robert's relationship has finally begun to really mend after their falling out over the deaths of Elia and her children and Robert's refusal to seek justice for their murder. The people also now view Robert as a 'defender of the realm' rather than a Usurper. Although, there will probably always be a select few who refer to him as such for several years to come, but they are few and far between. But most importantly, the lion's growing influence within the court will be halted, at least for a few years_.'

Truthfully, Jon did feel sympathetic for the people of Lannisport. Even with his predictions and his careful machinations, he had not fully anticipated the brutality and effectiveness of the Ironborn raid on Lannisport. He sent a prayer for the souls lost, but he took solace in the fact that their sacrifice was not for nothing. It would take years to Tywin Lannister to reclaim the loss of reputation due to the attack on his primary port town. Years during which his eyes and far reaching influence would be lessened at the royal court. Years during which Jon could begin to weaken the lion's influence on the Iron Throne.

'_But despite the war turning out exactly how I wanted, not everything went according to plan,_' Jon thought, his eyes flickering to the northern kingdom. '_And it is all because of one individual. The man who has been dubbed by Robert as the 'Northern Sorcerer_'.

As an Andal, the very thought of a sorcerer in a position of power made him uneasy. But at the same time, his position as a Lord of the Realm, and as Hand of the King, gave him the perspective to ignore such feelings. The man and his power were becoming a symbol of fear, hope, inspiration, and wonder. Things that were of great use in controlling the masses. Thankfully, the sorcerer had found his home in the North and had all but sworn allegiance to the Starks. He would've preferred that the man was here in King's Landing where he could keep a better eye on him, but the North would suffice, and he would take comfort in the knowledge that he was not under Tywin Lannister's thumb. Gods only knew what the Realm would become should the lions gain the allegiance of a sorcerer. Let alone one as powerful as Robert and the many others he'd questioned who'd been at the Pyke claimed he was.

'_And he will not be the last individual with these powers, if Robert's word is to be believed, which I have no reason to doubt_.'

It'd taken a surprisingly large amount of wine, not to mention a lot of gentle prodding and more than a few mentions to his status as an almost-father while raising Ned and Robert, but eventually he got Robert to open up more about what Ned planned to do about the sorcerer now under his command. Ned planned on partially using the sorcerer to help train up both his trueborn son and heir and his bastard son. Both of whom, according to the sorcerer, had the born ability to command the same magic as he.

Jon wasn't sure just when Ned had become as wise in terms of the game, but he was playing his usage of the sorcerer perfectly. His sons would train together and form a bond as strong as any trueborn siblings under the tutelage of the sorcerer. And by keeping their abilities quiet, at least for a few years, he could ensure that there was be no outside interference in the boys' training. Specifically, if a Lord targeted Ned's bastard son and tried to tempt him with lordship of the North in return for something. It also gave Ned time to prepare. Because he had no doubt that the moment the knowledge that the Northern Sorcerer was training a Lord Paramount's son officially became known to the people as a whole, the other Lords of the Realm would be sending their heirs and throwing their daughters at the sorcerer in hopes that he will grant their house the prestige of having a sorcerer as their head of house.

'_I will have to keep a close eye on the boys training,_' Jon thought, idly tapping his finger on the map as he stared at the Northern kingdom. '_But the boys abilities make it imperative that the crown keeps a good relationship with the Starks. Just as the dragons served as a deterrent for years under the Targaryen rule, so too can these sorcerers act as a deterrent during the Baratheon rule. Perhaps a fostering, not for years as I don't want to disrupt Ned's careful plans to cultivate a good relationship between his sons. But perhaps when the boys are older…or mayhap I can convince Robert to send Joffrey North. Wait… No… That won't work. The boy may still be young, but the lioness has shown her claws when even the mention of her 'precious golden son' is brought up_.'

Putting thoughts of the sorcerer and fostering aside, Jon allowed his gaze to flicker to the last problematic region of Westeros. And it was this region that truthfully frightened Jon the most. For if Dorne were to want to remove the Baratheons from power, they could not do so through a strength of arms. No, they would simply send assassins, poison the Baratheons, and then they would retreat back into their desert where no foreign army has managed to claim victory. Not even the Targaryens in the height of their power could rein in Dorne through strength alone. It took marriage to bring Dorne into the fold. And perhaps marriage might be the answer again.

'_Doran Martell would not agree to a marriage with any Baratheon, nor any Lannister. And I have no heirs yet to offer him. The Reach will not be willing to marry into Dorne, not with the recent slight delivered upon them with Oberyn Martell wounding Willias Tyrell. Edmure Tully is an option…but I do not believe that would be viable. By Dornish customs, the eldest Arianne Martell is next in line to become the ruler of Dorne. And I doubt that she would be willing to give up such a position to become Lady of the Riverlands. No, Doran will not accept just any Lord or Lady for his sons or daughter. But…perhaps there is another option. Perhaps, just perhaps, Doran would be willing to accept a son of Dorne for his daughter. One that would not be a threat to the Martell's control of Dorne. Quite the opposite in fact. And one that could help to ensure that the Martell's stayed loyal to the crown. And, amusingly enough, the solution to that lies once again in the North. And he is gaining value as we speak_.'

Ned refused to speak of just who the mother of his bastard son was. But Jon was not a fool. And he knew his foster son perhaps better than the man knew himself. And Jon knew that there was only one woman in the whole of Westeros that could make the Honorable Eddard Stark forgo his honor. And that woman was Ashara Dayne.

The timing worked out; the babe was just born slightly on the smaller size. And the story is well known that during the Rebellion the Lady Dayne grew large with child. House Dayne claimed that the child was a stillborn girl, but Jon didn't buy it. No doubt Ned took the boy in the hopes of raising him, which was understandable considering what just happened to his family. And it was Ned taking her son, as well as the loss of her brother that drove the Lady Dayne to her sad fate.

'_The Dayne family will more than likely deny the claim, especially as they have not come forth with the claim yet. Perhaps they are ashamed of his Northern roots. But it doesn't matter. In time when the boy's abilities become known, his value will be elevated to a level that no bastard in history has ever experienced. And the Daynes would be foolish to deny Ashara as the mother when that day comes. Doing so would hurt their reputation perhaps to a point of no return. And it is not without precedence for the ruler of Dorne to take a bastard as their consort and gift them with the ruling families name_.'

He would have to time it carefully. He needed to give the boy time to grow into his powers and prove his worth. And he also needed to give Ned time to reaffirm the boys' allegiances to not only the North and House Stark, but the royal family as well. He would give the boy five years, maybe a year more if the knowledge of his powers hadn't spread through Westeros by then. And then he would carefully begin to spread the rumors of who the boy's mother is, making sure that said rumors reached Dorne, specially Doran and Arianne Martell.

Yes. That would be for the best. But again, those were plans for years from now. He needed to focus on the here and now. With the lion's gaze off King's Landing, he was free to implement his own people into the court. And he had one candidate specifically in mind. '_It would solve many of the problems I am having. Specifically, the problem of Robert's extravagant spending habits and my wife's complaints of having no companionship here in the capital. And according to the reports I've seen, he has done an extraordinary job in the Vale so far. Rumor says that he can rub two coppers together and produce a gold dragon. An ability which I find difficult to believe, but one that could prove useful as well. Yes. I will offer him the position as Master of Coin and put his skills to the test. But I will have to be careful. I am aware of his history with my wife. I will have to have the two of them watched and make sure they do not spend any prolonged time together outside of what is socially acceptable_.'

Putting such thoughts aside for the moment, Jon pulled out a blank raven scroll, dipped his quill in his ink well and began to write the summons of Petry Baelish to court in order to assume the position of the Master of Coin.


	7. Winter Years Part 1

**Welcome back everyone! Honestly, don't have much to say leading into this one, other than I hope that you enjoy and please feel free to leave a review if you feel so inclined too. And thank you to everyone who has already reviewed, favorited or add this story to their alerts. You guys are really helping me keep motivated with this one! And another huge shout out to my brainstorm partner/beta reader for this story, Tellmicus Sundace.**

**Lastly, standard disclaimer; I do not own Game of Thrones, A Song of Fire and Ice nor Star Wars.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Keeping a tight hold on his horse's reigns, Ned Stark had to resist the urge to press his horse into a faster pace as the landscape around them began to become steadily more and more recognizable as they grew closer to Winterfell. In comparison to his time at the Vale or during Robert's Rebellion, the Greyjoy Rebellion had caused him only to part from Winterfell for only a short duration of time, nearly two moons. But even then, it felt like an eternity. Especially with the news that awaited him once they'd returned to Northern soil. '_Cat has given birth. A son. A second son. The second child born of our union that I was not there to witness_.'

"And these…Mandalorians, they are able to defeat your kind?"

Looking over his shoulder, Ned spotted his two new charges riding near the sorcerer that'd managed to change so much in such a short period of time. For pretty much the entirety of the boat ride from the Iron Islands back to the North, Ned was fearful that either Theon or Asha, Asha especially as she was the eldest, would try to bring some form of harm to Nox. An effort that would no doubt lead to either one or both Ironborn wards to be seriously injured at best, or dead at worst.

But to his utmost surprise, not only did that event not come to pass, but the exact opposite seemed to be happening. Both of his wards seemed to be growing somewhat _fond_ of the sorcerer. Or, more accurately, Asha was relaxing and coming to terms with being in his presence and young Theon was following her lead in the matter. It helped immensely that Nox was so incredibly _persuasive_. The man had captured the imagination of Asha and young Theon early in their journey by telling them a few tales of his homeland. Whether they were true or not, Ned couldn't tell, and none of the tales revealed details or specifics of his home beyond what had already been discussed. But the tales had done their job in creating a sort of truce between Nox and the wards.

Asha seemed especially interested in the tales of these 'Mandalorians', as Nox called them. As did many of the Northern Lords and men, namely the Great Jon, who decided to accompany the Starks back north instead of heading south in order to participate in a Tournament that Tywin Lannister was organizing on orders from Robert to celebrate the defeat of the Ironborn. These Mandalorians were apparently a warrior sect from his homeland that were dedicated their lives to the art of war and honor. And were, by Nox's own accounts, men and women that were able to match the sorcerers and sorceresses, these Sith and Jedi, of his homeland step for step on the battlefield. Such a group was of great interest to the two wards, and to Ned as well. For any group of warriors that held to honor as Nox described, and could go match even the likes of Nox, were a people he was very interested in getting to know. For his part, Nox didn't seem to have any qualms about describing a sect of warriors that were capable of defeating those like him.

"Sometimes," Nox answered Asha. "A fight between a Mandalorian and a Sith or Jedi had no definite outcome. Although there were many who didn't believe it to be so. But just because one is skilled or powerful, does not make them invincible. A single lucky arrow fired when the target is not paying attention can fell even the greatest. So, what does that mean?"

"It means archery is better in combat?" Theon answered, to which Asha immediately slapped her brother upside the back of his head.

"Think first before sprouting off at the mouth, Theon," Asha chided her brother. "It means that it doesn't matter how strong or skilled you are, you can still die from an unforeseen attack."

"Exactly," Nox nodded. "One must remain vigilant and not allow their skills to become lax over time. The Mandalorians had that edge. Their entire life was dedicated to art of combat and – ah. I see that we have arrived already. Time certainly does pass one by when talking on a subject you enjoy."

Ned nearly jumped out of his saddle as he looked ahead and spotted the tall grey walls of Winterfell in the distance. _'By the gods…I need to stop getting so distracted by Nox and his tales_.' Ned sighed before feeling his spirits lift at the thought of what awaited them within the walls of his home. "Come," Ned commanded, tapping his horse's flanks with his heels to set their pace at a trot. "We will be within the walls within an hour at this pace. Let us not delay any longer."

None of the men, or women, argued with him as the thought of the end of their long journey renewed their spirits. Within the hour they were passing through the walls of Winterfell, the warmth coming from the hot springs that warmed the keep washing over them. The main road that lead through Winterfell and towards the inner castle was lined with all the denizens of Winterfell as they came out of their homes to welcome their Lord and loved one's home. As they passed through another small wall and into the inner castle, Ned's joy increased tenfold as he spotted his wife, son and daughters standing in a line waiting for him along with Maester Luwin and Lord Manderly. His joy was dampened slightly at noticing how Jon had been forced to stand back several paces an in line with the servants of the Keep, but he pushed that out of his mind for now. There would be time to deal with his placement. For now, he wanted to hold his family and see the newest addition to the pack.

"My Lord Husband," Cat greeted him as he dismounted from his horse, a bundle held firmly in her arms. "Welcome home, my love."

"Cat," Ned smiled, approaching his wife and wrapping her in his arms, being careful not to disrupt the bundle in her arms. Despite the differences they had and no matter what Ned's heart constantly yelled at him, she was his wife, the mother of his children. And he truly did care for her. "It is good to be home."

Pulling back from him, Cat graced him with a smile that lightened her face. "Husband, I present to you your second true son."

Her statement wasn't lost on Ned, and he was glad that her words were said quietly enough to barely pass beyond the two of them. Taking the bundle from her arms, he carefully pulled back on the edge of the blanket, revealing a small face beneath. While Sansa and Robb may have taken after their mother in terms of their looks, Arya and the little one in his arms were without a doubt Stark. "He's perfect." Ned smiled, looking up at his wife. "What is his name?"

"Brandon Stark," Cat said proudly. "After your brother and the founder of your House."

"A good name." Ned nodded, handing his new son back to his wife, but not before leaning in and giving Cat a quick kiss. "Thank you, Cat."

Cat's eyes shined with happiness and pride as she stepped back and allowed Ned access to the rest of their children. "Robb, Sansa, Arya, come here you." He laughed as he gathered up his children, bestowing hugs and kisses between them all before finding himself before Lord Wyman Manderly.

The Lord of White Harbor had a smile on his face as he watched Ned disentangle himself from his children. "You will forgive me, my Lord, if I do not greet you as such. I'm afraid that not only would your arms not reach around me, but I fear my wife would get jealous if she hears the tale of me kissing someone else."

"Aye, I can imagine," Ned nodded, his mood light as he greeted the Lord. "I thank you, Lord Manderly, on behalf of House Stark for your aid during my absence. And the King sends his regards and thanks along as well. To you and your sons for their repelling of the Ironborn attack on Dragonstone."

Manderly's chest puffed out, an impressive feat considering the man's girth, at the praise. "I will ensure that my sons hear of the King's regards, my Lord."

Lastly, Ned made his way through the line and greeted his 'bastard' son. "Jon," Ned smiled, squatting down in front of the boy.

Jon seemed to be almost surprised at being greeted, but his face split into a wide smile and Ned could almost feel the joy emanating from the young boy. "Fa – Lord Stark. I am glad to see you."

"And I you, Jon," Ned smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. "Did you do as I instructed and support your brother during my absence?"

Jon's eyes flickered briefly towards the rest of his family. "Yes f – Lord Stark. As best I could."

"Good." Ned smiled again, before patting Jon on the shoulder and making his way back towards the line of men and women that'd rode with him.

Motioning his two new wards forward, Ned introduced them to his family. "Wife, children. This is Asha Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy. From this moment onwards they are wards here at Winterfell and are to be treated as if they are part of the pack. Understand?"

"Yes, father."

"Yes, Lord Stark," his family and the servants of Winterfell answered as he ushered Asha and Theon forward.

"Good. Robb, Jon, please see Asha and Theon to their rooms. Maester Luwin, Lord Manderly. I would like to have words with you both before we attend the feast tonight. You as well, Nox. We need to discuss some of the ideas you talked to me about during the voyage home."

The courtyard immediately began to disperse as the people of Winterfell began returning to their assigned tasks. Behind him, Ned noticed Nox hanging behind for a moment, talking to the Ironborn woman and young girl that he rescued from Lorch. After a quiet conversation, he watched as Nox handed the two a small coin purse before making his way towards Ned.

"I wasn't sure if they'd had quarters assigned or not." Nox said, answering Ned's unasked question. "So, I gave them some coin to put them up in Winterfell for a week or so until we can iron out the details of what they'll be doing here."

'_That's right,_' Ned thought as the two made their way through the great keep and towards Ned's solar, followed closely by Luwin and Manderly. Once they'd arrived, Ned had to resist the urge to head straight for his bed, and instead made his way to his desk and sat down. "Alright," Ned began, looking at Maester Luwin and Lord Manderly especially. "Now that formalities have been observed, I want the truth. How did my son perform during my absence?"

"He performed admirably for a boy his age, my Lord," Wyman answered after taking a moment. "He was as patient as he could be when dealing with the smallfolk, and he wasn't afraid to ask for advice from either myself or Maester Luwin when dealing with certain matters. And anything that was presented that was too much of a decision for him, he was able to set the matter aside until your return."

Hearing how well his son of only seven name-days performed made Ned swell with pride. Robb would be a good Lord of Winterfell in the future. "And what of Jon?"

And the mention of his bastard, both Wyman and Luwin looked uneasy. "Young Jon…did his best to do as you instructed, my Lord." Luwin answered tactfully.

"Which is barely a half truth," Nox cut in before Ned could. "Something or someone was preventing Jon from giving Robb aid. Is that the truth?"

Again, both men looked uneasy. "My lord," Wyman began slowly. "It is not my place to question yours or your Lady of Winterfell's authority, especially in your absence. But the Lady Cat all but forbade young Jon from being present during court."

The joy that'd been steadily building within him turned slightly. '_Gods, I was hoping I wouldn't have to deal with this so soon_.' "How was she preventing him? Did she outright forbid Jon from attending court at Robb's side?"

"No," Maester Luwin answered quickly. "But young Jon did have a fair amount of duties and chores to perform. And those usually prevented him from attending court alongside your heir."

Ned could see the truth between the words Luwin was speaking. Cat had assigned Jon extra work to keep him away from court and away from Robb. While not against what he'd commanded, his wife also hadn't abided by his word. It was not a pleasant situation. "I will have words with Cat regarding Jon and his future." Ned spoke after a long silence. Truthfully, it didn't matter what potential plans Ned might've had in mind for the boy a few months ago. Jon's future was now tied to Nox. "But for now, Nox has plans that we need to discuss the feasibility of achieving."

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Nox nodded, taking the offered opening. "Maester Luwin, how much glass have we managed to produce so far?"

"Enough to add an addition onto our existing glass gardens, but not enough to construct a new glass garden," Luwin answered almost immediately as if he were expecting the question.

"That is not enough." Nox sighed. "The air is growing colder with each passing day. Ideally, we need to construct a new glass garden or two before the snows come. We can still produce during winter, but it will be much harder to assemble the gardens when our men are ass deep in snow."

"The issue isn't the production, Master Nox," Wyman added, wiping at his forehead. "It's the materials."

"Then let us solve that issue through trade." Nox countered. "I'm sure Dorne would be open to trading with us considering our gift to them."

Wyman and Luwin cast one another a brief look of confusion. "Gift? Master Nox?"

"Aye, a gift." Ned nodded. "The hands of Ser Armory Lorch, who was found guilty through a Trial by Combat after he and his men were found raping a young mother and her daughter."

Maester Luwin blanched at the thought, while Wyman merely shook his head. "Should've figured that bastard would keep doing what he was doing. A shame the King didn't let us just execute the man after what he did at the end of the Rebellion. Who did he fight against?"

"Me," Nox answered. "The man was a butcher and a sadist, but in truth had little skill when it came to combat. I crushed him and his men. Literally and figuratively."

Not wanting to relive the fight, Ned moved the discussion forward. "Regardless of what happened, Lorch has finally been brought to justice. Wyman, I'm entrusting you to deliver our gift and open trade negotiations with Dorne."

"You honor me, Lord Stark," Wyman bowed. "I will deliver the hands personally and will not return without an agreement between the North and Dorne."

"I couldn't ask for a better choice to handle this, Wyman," Ned nodded his thanks. "We can discuss the details later, but for now, Nox has several more projects for us to start on. Some of which will require your assistance, Maester Luwin."

Maester Luwin perked up considerably. After Nox's showing of the glass, Ned knew that the aging Maester was excited to see what other secrets he could learn from the sorcerer. "Of course, my Lord. Master Nox, what plans do you—?"

A hand thick pile of papers dropping onto the surface of Ned's desk cut Maester Luwin off. _'Gods, where was he hiding all of that?_' Ned wondered as he stared at the stack of papers of his desk. '_I swear the man has the ability to make objects appear and disappear at will! Although, considering the powers he showed on Pyke, such a thing is probably tedious for him_.'

"We can start with some of the simpler projects," Nox began, picking up the first sheet of paper and handing it off to Luwin, who began to eagerly devour whatever was on the paper. "However, there is one item that we will need before we can proceed. And that is a steady supply of metal and the ability to make large quantities of high-grade steel as well. Have you managed to complete the blast furnace per the plans that I presented to you before the war began?"

Taking the offered paper from Maester Luwin, Ned looked down at the strange devise that was drawn in surprising detail on the page. '_It looks like a press of some kind. But for what?_'

"The foundation has been laid for both the furnace and the windmill in Winter Town," Maester Luwin answered. "But I fear without your…unique abilities that construction has been slow. It will take at least another moon's turn or more before your 'blast furnace' can be used."

Nox winced at that. "Not ideal. At least it will give us time to gather the iron ore that we'll need. But for now, we can begin constructing various parts and pieces that do not require metal. And, while we're on the subject, I would like to ask something of you, Lord Stark."

Setting down the paper, Ned picked up another from the stack, this one depicting a strange metal coil of some kind. "What is it?"

"I would ask for your permission to begin renovations on the First Keep and the Broken Tower."

Setting aside the paper, which Wyman immediately picked up, Ned gave Nox his full attention. "To what end?"

Holding his hands behind his back, Nox spoke slowly as he outlined his plans. "The First Keep, you well know, is dilapidated and has been left in such a state for decades, if not centuries. During the winter years, it can house citizens of the North, but outside of that it serves little purpose. It is, for all intents and purposes now, a waste of space. I plan to change that for the better. We can transform the Keep into a place of ingenuity by using the empty halls and rooms as places to construct many of these items laid out before you. The metal and wood will be shaped and formed in Winter Town, and then shipped into the First Keep to be worked into their final purpose. We can also dedicate a section of the keep into a public bathhouse that feeds off the hot spring water that runs through the walls of not only the Great Keep, but also the First Keep as well."

"I see," Ned nodded, thinking the possibility over. There was merit to his words. And he was right in saying that, for now, the First Keep did nothing for them. "And what of the Broken Tower?"

"The tower would serve as an extension to the work being done in the First Keep, as well as place to house the workers," Nox explained. "And I would also seek to convert part of the Tower into a…college of sorts."

"A college?" Maester Luwin perked up. "A place of learning? Do you mean to separate the North from the Citadel?"

"No," Nox denied, shaking his head. "More like a supplement to the Citadel. But unlike your Maester Order who only takes on those of Nobility, and only men at that. The college would educate the lowborn as well as the highborn people of the North, both men and women who show promise."

Luwin frowned. "I would not be able to teach so many. My duties in teaching the sons and daughters of the Lord Stark as well as my other duties would not give me the time to do as you suggest."

"And I'm not suggesting that you teach. At least not to the masses." Nox countered. "Bethany and her daughter Hilda, the mother and daughter we brought back from the Iron Islands, are well educated. Their background is their own and I will not discuss it without their leave to do so. But I believe that Bethany is capable of teaching those that wish to learn. And from her, we can identify those who have sufficient skill and who are deserving of furthering their education by aiding and studying with Maester Luwin and even myself if I have the time."

The more Ned heard of Nox's plan, the more he wanted to see them come to fruition. The glass alone that Nox had gifted them had the opportunity to change the face of the North. Not only because it would allow them to create more glass gardens and therefore grow more of their own food. But eventually they would be able to start trading the glass with the other regions of the Seven Kingdoms and perhaps even in Essos. And if these, devices, that Nox was suggesting they make could have the same impact, then Ned was all for them.

"Maester Luwin, can our coffers support the renovation of the First Keep and the Broken Tower as well as see to the beginnings of these projects?" He asked.

Luwin scratched at the back of his head, looking off to the side. "The coffers are deep, my Lord. I would have to spend a few days with Master Nox going over the details for each plan and the cost associated with each. But I believe our coffers could support most of what is being proposed. However, it would heavily cut into the coin set aside to purchase food during the winter years."

"The coffers of White Harbor are open for your use on these endeavors, Lord Stark." Wyman cut in quickly.

With the coffers of White Harbor available to them, there was no question as to whether they would be able to afford most, if not all, of what Nox was proposing. But Ned knew he would have to ration how much he relied on the aid from Wyman. While the man was loyal and a good man, he could see his endgame. Wyman had two granddaughters after all, both of whom where near of age with Robb. If they relied too heavily on White Harbor, he would almost have to accept one of Wyman's granddaughters becoming the next Lady of Winterfell. Not an altogether uncomfortable choice, but one that he was not ready to make. Not yet at least.

"There are ways that we can cut some of the costs as well." Nox continued. "If we focus our efforts on creating one or two glass gardens in Winter Town, I can supply the caretakers of the gardens with seeds from my homeland."

That got Ned's attention, as well as the attention of the other two men in the room. "What kind of seeds do you have to offer?" Ned inquired. "And are they capable of growing in the glass gardens during the winter years?"

"They are," Nox nodded before elaborating further. "Parts of my homeland are not so unlike the North. It took a long time, but we eventually managed to cultivate plants that can grow in extreme climates such as North. And perhaps even the lands beyond the Wall."

"What kind of plants?" Luwin asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"A few grains, a specific type fruit, and a vegetable or two," Nox answered. "Nothing exotic, but they can sustain a population if you grow enough of them."

"Then that will be our first priority." Ned concluded, ending the discussion. "Lord Manderly, I invite you to rest the night and join me at the head table at the feast tonight. But I am sorry that I must ask you to return to White Harbor first thing in the morning and head for Dorne straight away. If we are to get the glass gardens built for these new plants before the first snows, we will need the resources to do so soon."

Wyman bowed as much as his gut would allow him to. "It is no trouble at all, Lord Stark. As you say, I will head out at first light and make for Dorne with all haste. And I won't return without a shipment of sand and a trade agreement with the Dornish."

"Good," Ned nodded, rising to his feet. "Now, gentlemen, I think that is enough for tonight. Let us head to the welcoming feast, and we can talk more while we're there."

* * *

Waking the next morning was a slightly more painful than normal process for Nox. Despite the shutters to his room being shut, the sun not yet cresting the horizon, _and_ the fact that he was blind, the dim light shining on his unseeing eyes was far too bright. "Force," Nox murmured to himself as he slowly sat upright, only to immediately flop back down on his bed as he was hit with a wave of vertigo and nausea. "How much did I have to drink last night?"

"I believe the better part of a barrel of ale, Master Nox."

It was a testament to his state that he hadn't even realized that he wasn't alone in his room. With reflexes honed during the Trials of Korriban and his life after, Nox made to lash out with the Force towards the location of the voice in his room. The startled gasp made him pull back, just before the full force of his power could impact the other person in his room. "Nyra?" he half questioned as he painfully forced himself upright in his bed.

"Y–Yes, Master Nox," she answered, her voice shaky.

Cursing his reflexes, Nox placed his hand to his head and used the Force to purge the lingering effects of the alcohol still in his system. "I'm sorry about that," he said, rising to his feet and feeling far better than he had a moment before.

"I – I should be the one apologizing," Nyra muttered, her voice still slightly shaking. "I – I shouldn't have snuck into your room while you slept and startled you so, Master Nox. But what…what was that? It felt…so cold. Like – Like I was staring into the darkness of night. I – I –"

Reaching out to her, Nox laid a hand on each of her shoulders. Despite having stayed in Winterfell for nearly a month before heading out to the Iron Islands and having her be his unofficial shadow, he hadn't really taken the time to truly see her. She was younger than him, but only by a few years. Her face was narrow, her chin pointed, and her long black hair was tied back behind her head. She may not have been the most beautiful woman physically, but she wasn't unattractive in the slightest. But that was only part of what drew his interest in her. She had a strength within her. She wasn't Force sensitive, but there was still a strength within her that was shouting to be free. And that strength drew her to him.

Cupping her jaw with his right hand, Nox carefully let the Force flow through him and into her, soothing away her fear and the cold grip of the darkness that'd entrapped her. Once he'd felt her free from the grip of the dark side, he broke contact with her and stepped back.

Her body shifted forward as if searching for his touch. "Gods," she breathed, her breath coming in short rasps as she oriented herself. "That…That was…What did you do?"

"Chased the darkness away," he answered.

It was a trick he'd learned with Ashara when he first began to teach her the ways of the Sith. As Ashara was a Jedi, or rather a Padawan, she was heavily versed in the light almost to the point where touching the darkness would leave her a trembling mess. And as he had no use for a quivering Apprentice who couldn't touch the dark side, he was left with two options. Ditch her or develop a technique to help drive off the darkness when it became too much for her. And to this day, he didn't regret his decision.

"It felt…" Nyra murmured before shaking her head. "Sorry, Master Nox. It…It wasn't my place to make you-"

"There is nothing to apologize for." Nox countered, giving her a smile. "And please stop calling me 'Master Nox'. It's just Nox for you."

Nyra's smile brightened not only her face, but her presence in the Force to the point where she was almost shining. "Nox." She replied, as if testing out the name on her lips. "Is…Is there anything you need for your fast? Or anything I can get for you?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "But thank you for the offer. Right now, I need to get the godswood well before young Robb and Jon arrive for their first day of training under me."

"Very well Mas – Nox," Nyra said, bowing slightly to him as she slowly backed up towards the door. "If there is anything, and I mean anything, that I can do for you please ask. It is my honor and privilege to serve you."

Watching her leave, Nox couldn't help but notice the slight swing she put into her hips as she walked out of the room. "Force," he breathed, calling on his training in self-control to take care a certain problem that had arisen by her sauntering. "How long has it been that that is all it takes?"

Once he'd managed to get his baser urges under control, Nox donned his robes and set out towards the godswood, which by order of Lord Stark, would be where Jon and Robb would be undergoing their training. '_Once again, I have to admit that Lord Stark has surprised me_.' Nox thought as he made his way out of the great keep. The cold northern air made him pause momentarily as he adjusted to the slight change in temperature. '_He is far more cunning that he appears. While the godswood is open to the citizens of Winterfell, there is only one true way in and one true way out. And that is through a guarded entrance. By training the boys in the godswood, he can control who knows what exactly their training will entail. And while he announced his intentions last night for Jon and Robb to train under my tutelage, he never specified just what I would be training the boys in. He still needs quite a bit of work, but at least he isn't a fool like many of the southern lords believe him to be_.'

As he made his way past the guards and into the godswood proper, he began running what he planned to use to the teach the boys as he walked amongst the trees. '_I cannot train them like I was. They are not acolytes of Korriban. If I were to treat them thusly, then at the very least one of the boys would have to die at the hands of the other before their training could be considered complete. Something that I am sure Lord Stark, nor any of the Lords in this land, would approve of. Maybe except for Tywin. But no, I can use aspects of the Trials of Korriban, but they will not be the central point of the boy's training_.'

In this, Nox considered himself fortunate considering his past apprentices. His first apprentice, and love, Ashara had nearly been a Jedi before he killed her instructors and took her under his tutelage. And as much as he taught her in matters of the dark side, she too taught him much of the light side of the Force. And his second apprentice, Xalek, was a true Kaleesh warrior who almost had more in common with the Mandalorians than he did with the Sith. Both, along with his own experience coming up through the Sith ranks, had given him a relatively unique appreciation towards how to train an individual. But still, training Robb and Jon would be a far cry than training Ashara or Xalek, or any of his other underlings he'd collected over the years. Robb and Jon would be the first two who would be becoming his acolytes without any prior experience. Meaning he'd have to start at the very beginning of what the Force was and what it meant to use the light side and the dark side of the Force.

By the time he reached the center clearing before the weirwood, he had a general idea about how to begin Jon's and Robb's Force training. But as he stepped through the trees, he found that he wasn't the first one to arrive this morning. Lord Stark was sitting on the large rock facing the weirwood with his back towards Nox. "Lord Stark," Nox greeted the man, making the Lord of Winterfell turn his head. "I hadn't expected to see you here this early."

"Nor I you," Stark replied. "The sun has barely crested the horizon."

Shrugging, Nox stepped up beside Stark. "I don't sleep much. And through the Force, one can forgo much sleep and still be at their peak."

Stark nodded absentmindedly. "I think I shall have need of such a technique if nights like last continue."

Reaching out to Stark through the Force, he found that despite being awake, Stark was barely conscious. His body was fatigued and his mind drained. "Lady Stark keep you awake all night in her welcoming you home?" he asked teasingly.

Stark huffed, a wave of unpleasant emotions rolling off him as he did. The most obvious of which was a general sense of self-loathing, which was accompanied with a quick flash of deep violet eyes. "Partially. But I found myself…troubled and unable to rest afterwards for my dreams refused to let me rest."

That got Nox's attention. The Force often manifested itself in strange and mysterious ways. But none was more prominent than when it manifests during one's dreams. "What kind of dreams, if you do not mind my asking."

Stark took his time before answering. "You may, and in fact, you might be able to help. I dreamt of the throne room within the Red Keep. At first, I thought I was merely dreaming of the nightmare that was the sacking of King's Landing, but this was something different. It felt so much more…real than any previous dream. I could almost command what I was doing in the dream. I'd looked around, and I didn't recognize a single person in the room. And on the Throne was a deformed creature wearing an…animal skin to try and hide itself. I remember speaking and hearing others speak, but I don't remember a word of what was said. And then…a sense of death and betrayal as a dagger was held to my throat. And then nothing but darkness."

Nox knew there and then exactly what it was. Stark had had a Force premonition in his sleep. "And what do you think this…dream of yours was, Lord Stark?"

Stark turned towards him, his very essence searching for answers. "Starks before I have had such dreams, as have others, Daenys the Dreamer perhaps being the most prominent example in history. My ancestors called them 'wolf dreams', and some say that King Torrhen Stark had such a dream the night before he decided to bend knee to Aegon the Conqueror. But I take it that, as the wolf's blood is more than it seems, so too are these wolf dreams."

"And you would be correct." Nox nodded, taking a step past Stark and towards the weirwood. "In my culture, they're known as Force visions. They can occur during a deep state of meditation and can be narrowed in scope by a well-practiced individual. Or, in your case, they can come and go during sleep or meditation but with no sense of control to what you're seeing, let alone where or when."

"But they are the future, are they not?"

"No," Nox denied almost immediately. "At least, not entirely. For the future is always in motion, and the only thing certain about the future is uncertainty. And such dreams or visions should be taken with a grain of salt. For if they are taken too literally, then the recipient may inadvertently create the very scenario they witnessed by trying to prevent it. I guess what I'm saying is that while Force visions should not be ignored, they shouldn't be considered as an absolute."

Stark went silent, the only noise the rustling of the leaves as the wind blew through the godswood. "That is why you have stayed in the North, isn't it?" Stark asked seemingly out of nowhere. "You had one of these Force visions, did you not? Something that showed you that you needed to stay here instead of heading anywhere else."

Again, Nox was impressed with the level of insightfulness displayed by the Warden of the North. '_Those foolish lords in the South think that he oblivious. And while he might be oblivious about some things, he is keen. Very keen. Lying won't work with him, not now. But I doubt he'd appreciate the full vision I received. Or he will overreact to it_.'

"Yes, I did," Nox confirmed. "The morning of my first day here in Winterfell, I felt a pull from the Force. A pull that led me to this very spot. And when I stood before the weirwood, I was nearly struck blind. For the tree was shining in the Force like a beacon in the dead of night. Next thing I knew, I was thrown into a vision where I watched as a darkness emanating from the far north claimed the land. And just before the darkness was able to claim total victory, the vision started over as a new series of events played out. I do not know just how long I stood here watching countless potential futures flashed before my eyes, but in each one the darkness was able to conquer the land. Until the last vision I had. In this vision, the darkness failed. The specifics are lost to me as to what specifically led to the fall of the darkness, but there is one thing I know for certain. And that is without a strong North, the darkness will win. And the North can only be strong when under the leadership of the wolves of the North."

He could feel Stark's curiosity peak. "So that is why you are staying? To help House Stark grow strong to fight whatever darkness is approaching? But didn't you just say that these visions show not often be taken as truth?"

"I said the untrained should take Force visions with a grain of salt, Lord Stark," Nox corrected, turning back to Stark. "But I have been trained, for a long time and have delved deeper into the mystery that is the force than you can possibly imagine. But having said that, I too am apprehensive on taking some visions too seriously. But this vision, this was something else completely. Something that I'm still trying to figure out. And after seeing so many possibilities…it is a puzzle. But before you start thinking that I'm a selfless man whose doing this to better your House alone, let me quell those thoughts. For I too now live in this land. And if the darkness that I saw consumes this land, I too shall be consumed. And that is not something that I want to have happen. So, you see, by strengthening the North and House Stark specifically, I increase my own odds of surviving what is coming."

"That is…strangely reassuring," Lord Stark remarked, his words echoing the feelings emanating from him. "Do you know what this 'darkness' is? Or when it will attack?"

Shaking his head, Nox answered honestly. "No. And no. The darkness clouded my vision, which is…unusual to say the least. I was unable to see what this darkness was or when it will come. But we have time, that much I know for certain. Time to prepare. Years. Maybe even a decade or two."

Rising to his feet, Lord Stark stepped up beside Nox as the two men faced the weirwood. "I cannot ask my bannermen to ready for a threat that we don't even know truly exists. But for what it is worth, I believe you. The old gods only know why. But I believe you."

"And you have my thanks for saying such, Lord Stark."

"Ned."

Turning, Nox faced Stark. "Pardon?"

"Ned." Lord Stark said, turning towards him and holding out his hand. "My family and those I hold closest to me call me Ned."

Taking the offered hand, Nox gave Ned a grin, and as he did, he felt a slight shift in the Force. And judging by the slight tightening of Ned's hand, he felt it as well. "You felt that as well, didn't you?" he asked, to which Ned nodded. "Good. That means that we are on the right path. And our journey forward truly begins today."

"Aye," Ned nodded letting go of his hand. "I guess it does. Robb, Jon. Quit hiding behind that tree and come out. I thought I told you boys it wasn't polite to spy on conversations that were not for your ears."

Across the clearing, there was a sudden rustling of leaves and branches as first Robb then Jon sheepishly stepped out from behind the tree they were hiding behind. '_He's getting better at sensing presences. Remarkable progress for one his age and with such limited education in matters of the Force. If only I had managed to get to him when he was younger_.'

"Sorry, father," both boys said almost simultaneously.

Accepting their apology, Ned turned to Nox. "I leave my sons in your hands, Master Nox. But I expect to be kept appraised of their progress and I want to be informed before their training turns too…physical in the future."

"As you wish," Nox nodded. "And by all means, you are welcome to stay as well. I'm sure you will be able to pick up a few tricks if you do."

"Would that I could," Ned sighed good naturedly. "But someone has to run the North. Boys, listen well to Master Nox and do exactly as he says."

Both Robb and Jon nodded vigorously. "Yes, father!"

With his peace said, Ned walked down the path towards the gate, leaving the three of them in the center of the godswood. "Come boys." Nox said, motioning towards the rock between the reflecting pool and the weirwood. "We have much to talk about today."

Both boys were almost bursting with excitement as they all but scrambled over one another in order to take a seat first. "Master Nox, are we going to learn that lifting trick you do with your hand today? Or that thunder and lightning magic Lord Umber was talking about last night? Or how to see these…visions you and father were talking about? Or are you going to teach us how to fight like you do?"

'_Ah, youth. Always so eager to learn,_' Nox thought with a rueful smile. '_We'll see just how long this youthful eagerness lasts once their training truly begins_.'

"Eventually, yes. But not today. Nor tomorrow. No, first I must give you both an understanding of the Force. Which means for the first month at least we will be going over philosophy, history, tactics, and different aspects of the Force before you even begin to learn how to utilize it."

Both boys' excitement dampened significantly at that. "But that is all boring." Robb complained.

"To some, perhaps. But it is a necessary step. But if you are unwilling to the time to gain a foundation, then you will never be able to properly utilize the Force. And if so, then it is not worth my time to teach you and the path out is right over there. But if you take it, I must truly question whether or not you are capable of becoming the next Warden of the North after your father and will be informing him as such."

Both boys ceased their complaints. "Ready to listen now?" He asked, to which both boys nodded. "Good. Today we will start with the basics. The Force, as it is called, is not so easily defined. It is everything, and nothing. It is all around us. It surrounds us, penetrates us, binds us. Think of it like a river that runs through all things. And you two and I are stones in this river. We can divert the Force and bend it to our will, but only to a certain extent. And there are two aspects to the Force. The light side and the dark side. Both of which can be utilized by those who are capable."

Jon's hand tentatively rose. "Um, Master Nox…why would anyone want to use something…dark?"

"It has to do with philosophy, Jon," Nox answered. "I assume then that you two believe that because there are light and dark aspects of the Force that you both immediately categorized them as good and evil respectively, no?"

Both boys timidly nodded their heads. "Then would it surprise you both to learn that I was raised and taught the dark side of the Force almost exclusively until I met my wi – my first apprentice?"

Both boys' eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "But you're not evil!" Jon all but shouted. "You – You saved me. You – You can't be dark."

"And that is the first thing we must eliminate. Your preconceived notions on what is good and what is evil," Nox lectured. "Both the light and dark sides of the Force can be used for good, or evil pending on your point of view. While it is far more complicated than what I'm about to say, the difference between the two can be summarized as thus. The light side focuses on peace and tranquility, while the dark side encourages strong emotions and domination. The true path lies in subscribing to both sides of the Force to a degree. You cannot allow yourself to fall too far into one aspect or the other. Fall too far into the light side, and you will become an emotionless husk of a person who cares for nothing, not even his own kin. I've seen those who've fallen so far into the light that they simply sat there emotionlessly as unspeakable acts of evil were happening around them, and they didn't lift a finger to stop it.

"On the other hand, the dark side can be just as treacherous. Fall too far into the dark side, and you will become a slave to your emotions, especially the strong emotions like hatred and desire. You'll begin lashing out at anything and everything you deem a threat to yourself, even if it is not. And in the end, you will become little more than a malformed monster that cares for nothing but your own power."

Pausing, he let his words sink in before continuing. "Both sides of the Force have codes of conduct to help emphasize that aspect of the Force. Now listen well and commit these codes to your memory, for we will be going over them and their meaning frequently in the months to come. The light side, or the Jedi Code is thus. _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force_. And Sith Code of the dark side is thus. _Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I grain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me_. Now, I hope you two listened well. Because we will be going through each of these codes, one line at a time, and discussing them."

* * *

Staring out over the city of Sunspear and the bay below from his private chambers within the Tower of the Sun, Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, quietly pondered the latest oddity that'd been presented to him. Namely in the form of the Northern vessel that was anchored within the bay. Despite what many may have thought, Dorne did not hate the North nor the wolves. Not like they hated the stags and lions at any rate. If anything, the people of Dorne understood the Northerner's reason for rebelling against the crown. And Eddard Stark's actions at the end of the Rebellion with his demands that Gregor Clegane and Armory Lorch stand trial for murder and his subsequent leaving when the demand was denied heightened the people of Dorne's opinion of the man. That wasn't to say that they would ever be considered friends. But the North were one of the few people left in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms that could safely dock at Sunspear without fear of reprisal.

"My Prince, Prince Oberyn has arrived," his ever-faithful bodyguard Areo Hotah announced, his deep rumbling voice carrying easily across the distance that separated the two.

"See him in," he commanded, not turning around from his view of the bay. "And then make sure that there are no unwanted ears nearby. I will be having private words with my brother."

"Yes, my prince," Areo drawled, his heavy feet telling of his quick retreat from the room.

What little peace he managed to find was quickly blown away as the doors to his chambers opened forcefully. "Brother, I hope that you know that you pulled me away from a most wonderful time I was having with my delightful Ellaria and a few of the new girls in the city."

"Your urges can wait, Oberyn." Doran stated, turning and facing his brother. The pain in his knees flaring slightly but not enough to prevent him from moving. "We have matters to discuss."

Quirking an eyebrow, Oberyn's gaze flickered towards the port, namely the northern ship anchored in the bay. "Yes, I suppose we do. I don't suppose you'll tell me why you haven't demanded that northern ship to leave our shores lest they want to taste our spears?"

"No, I haven't. And neither will you, Oberyn," Doran stated forcefully. While intelligent and skilled beyond belief in combat, subtlety was often lost on his younger brother. And the best way of dealing with him was often by being blunt. "That ship brought Wyman Manderly to our shores. And he is staying in the Tower of the Sun until our dealings are done. And you will be civil towards him during his stay."

Oberyn didn't bother to hide his look of contempt at the name. While his brother was of the similar mind as the rest of Dorne regarding the North, he still held them responsible for the death of their sister and her children. "So, the only man in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms who can rival the fat flower in terms of girth has decided to waddle his ass down to Dorne. No doubt at behest of his wolf masters. And you are allowing him to not only stay in Sunspear for a time, but in the Tower of the Sun. The very same tower where Elia, our sister, was raised alongside us. Why?"

"Because I said so, brother," Doran countered harshly, meeting his brother's cool gaze with a look of his own. "And you will respect my decision."

Doran held his brother's eyes, unwilling to look away. Shortly enough, Oberyn broke their lock and turned his head away. "Very well, brother," he conceded, albeit reluctantly. "So then, tell me why the fat mermaid has come to Dorne."

"His purpose is twofold," Doran explained. "The first was to deliver a gift to Dorne. The second was to establish a trade agreement between the North and Dorne."

Oberyn's face turned quizzical. "A gift? What kind of gift could the northern barbarians offer us?"

"Something we have sought after for years, brother," he answered, motioning towards a table along the wall of the room where a lone chest sat. "Compliments of the Starks."

Frowning, his brother made his way over to the chest and lifted the lid. When he spied what laid inside, he froze, just as Doran had done when he first laid his eyes upon the hands and the signet ring that lay within. "That…ring has a manticore on it, brother," Oberyn said, his voice low. "The sigil of House Lorch."

"And those are the hands of Armory Lorch," Doran continued, answering his brother's unasked question.

His brother stayed unusually quiet as he stared down at the severed hands that'd been gifted to them. A small piece of vengeance delivered by a House they had little love for. "Who?"

"A new vassal under the command of House Stark who fought against Lorch and several of his men on his own during a Trial by Combat after Lorch was found raping a mother and her young daughter by the Northerners." Doran replied, taking a seat as his gout began to flare to point where he could no longer ignore it. "A new vassal, who just happens to be a sorcerer of no small power."

That got Oberyn's attention. If there was one thing that could get his brother's attention outside of carnal delights or a good fight, it was the arcane. "A sorcerer?"

"Yes, according to Lord Manderly, and I find that he has little reason to lie." He knew what he was about to say next would not be taken well by his brother, but he had no choice but to withhold the information from his brother to prevent him from doing something rash. "For I have also heard a tale of this sorcerer from one of our spies."

Predictably, Oberyn spun around to him, his eyes alight with anger. "You – You knew that Lorch was dead?!"

"I didn't say that," he replied, skirting around the truth. In truth, he had heard the tale that Lorch had met his demise, but he didn't trust a single source of information with something so vital. But before he could get confirmation, Lord Manderly had arrived with the hands of the man to confirm his death, and everything else that Doran had heard. "I heard of this sorcerer. How he has sworn allegiance to House Stark. How this single man stormed Pyke by himself and managed to bring the krakens to heel."

Pacified for the moment, Oberyn's posture relaxed. "Perhaps I should head north to secure this supposed trade agreement and to see the truth for myself."

While Doran was interested in learning more about this sorcerer as well, mostly with how he would affect their long-term plans, he was not about to send his brother to do it. "No, you won't. At least not now." Doran said, ending his brother's hopes to learn more of the arcane. "I have a different task for you to perform."

"And what task would that be, brother?" Oberyn asked.

Adjusting his legs and rubbing his knees, Doran brought up the next piece of information that Manderly had confirmed for him about the sorcerer. "Something that I feel you will be well suited for. I need you to travel across the Free Cities of Essos to try and find any tale of this sorcerer so we might discover his origin."

Taking the chair across from him, Obery poured himself a glass of wine and took a small drink. "And why would you believe he hails from Essos? In the old days, it was not uncommon for those with the blood of the First Men to possess magic. Not so unlike our own Rhoynish ancestors and their water magic."

"Because the man has the look of a pure Valyrian," Doran said, making Oberyn pause mid-sip. "A fact which has not endeared him to the Usurper, but the fool was unfortunately able to overlook his hatred for all things related to the dragons after he witnessed just what the man was capable of."

Setting his glass down, Oberyn peered off into the distance deep in thought. "The Free Cities are vast, brother. It will take me some time to search them all. And while his looks might point towards the Free Cities, would it not be better to start at Qarth or Asshai?"

"Perhaps, but for now we will start with what we know about the man," Doran said. While Asshai and their Red God were a possibility, he doubted the man was from Qarth as it was unlikely that a Warlock from the House of the Undying would ever leave. "We don't need to know his whole history. Just any clue as to his origin will suffice."

Nodding, Oberyn finished off the last of his wine. "Well then, I guess I will be off on the first ship to leave for Essos. Ellaria has wanted to venture through Essos again. And I'm positive that I can find certain things to keep the both of us entertained while searching for any information on this sorcerer."

"Good," Doran nodded. "And there are two more aspects about the sorcerer that might help you narrow this search. While Lord Manderly was vague about the man's potential origins, I can conclude that the man was either a servant or a slave early in his life. And the second, and much more telling aspect about him, is that he is blind. And he wears an ornate cloth to cover his scars."

"A blind man?" Oberyn questioned. "A blind sorcerer, who has the martial prowess and arcane power to kill Lorch and his men in a Trial by Combat, and then lay siege to Pyke nearly by himself? This man is becoming more and more interesting with each word you speak, brother."

"That he is. I will continue to subtly question Lord Manderly about the man during trade talks. And there is one more task I ask of you while you are in the Free Cities." Pulling out a scroll from the inner lining of his robes, he held it out for his brother to take. "This is for your eyes-only brother. Yours and the intended recipient."

Picking up the scroll, Oberyn quickly opened it and read its contents, his eyes growing wider with each passing line he read. "Are you sure about this?" Oberyn asked as he rolled the scroll up and tucked it into the interior of his vest.

"There is always a chance when you play the game of thrones, brother." Doran stated. "But with this sorcerer now in the game, we have to be even more cautious with how we play our hand. That is why that is not a full agreement. Not yet at least. Should the sorcerer prove to not be as big a threat or if he can be swayed, then it will become such."

"I see," Oberyn nodded. "Well then, if that is all, brother, I will be off. I wish to say goodbye to my daughters before Ellaria and I head out on our adventure."

"Safe travels, brother." Doran nodded. "And may you find success in both of your endeavors."

* * *

Leaning against the arched window in his room within the renovated Broken Tower of Winterfell, Nox watched as light flurries of snow slowly drifted down from the sky to the ground below. '_Two years_,' he thought, as the snow fell past the window. '_Two years I have been living this new reality of mine. Never in a million years would I have thought that I would find myself stranded on a preindustrial world. Yet here I am. But even then, this experience has been something else entirely_.'

Reaching out with his senses, he didn't stop the swelling of pride within him as he assessed the ancient stronghold of House Stark below him. Despite the heavy snowfall that'd started barely a few months after their return from ending the rebellion on the Iron Islands, many of the projects Nox had been hoping to get started had gone off relatively smoothly. Or perhaps, it was because of the heavy snowfall, that could put even a blizzard on Hoth to shame, that he was able to help the Northerners achieve so much in such a short amount time. After all, what was there to do as the snow drifts climbed more than halfway up the walls of Winterfell?

After their return from the war and with the threat of winter weighing upon them, Nox had moved to personally oversee the final phases of construction for additional small glass garden within the walls of Winterfell, at nearly square acre in size secondary glass garden tucked nearby the homes of Winter Town and the windmill and blast furnace situated just beyond the outskirts of Winter Town. Getting the glass gardens finished in time had allowed the farmers and gardeners within the Stark lands to prepare the soil enough that they were able to begin planting seeds before the first snow reached them. While most of what was grown was native to the land, the seeds that Nox had within the small survival bag had proven a huge boon to the people. The fruit, vegetables, and grains that he provided grew faster and larger than anything the northerners had seen before. When asked about them, he made up a tale about how these plants were the mainstay of the food production of his home and had been chosen as such due to their size and quick germination period. Of course, he didn't tell them that each of those plants had been heavily genetically engineered to grow so large and so quickly, let alone in such harsh conditions. But even if he did, he doubted that anyone would be able to understand the explanation.

While the additional glass gardens and the blast furnace were the two primary changes to the land before the first snow, they were not the last. Merely the most important to get the other projects that could be started during the wintertime. But before they could make anything, they needed the raw materials necessary. Primarily iron and other metals to be smelted in the forge to create the steel. The solution to that problem came from perhaps one of the last places Nox expected. An old journal belonging to Lord Rickard Stark, Ned's father, recently discovered by Maester Luwin that'd been misplaced in the library by the previous Maester of Winterfell. In it, the former Lord of Winterfell noted the possible discovery of an iron vein in the mountains near Winterfell. But before he could order a crew to scout the area, he received word that his son Brandon had ridden to King's Landing and demanded justice for his kidnapped sister. And that was the last entry in the book.

Ned had understandably been furious that the journal belonging to his late father had been misplaced for so long. And when he inquired as to how such a thing happened, Maester Luwin had no answer to give. Not unless they were to bring Maester Walys back from the dead and ask him. But regardless of how the book got lost, they now had it. And so, before the snows could set in, Ned had sent out nearly two hundred men with mining equipment to not only scout the area noted, but to begin mining as well. The vein the men discovered apparently went deep, and not only was there iron, but they also discovered a copper vein nearby as well.

With the blast furnace operational and with a newly discovered vein of iron and other metals that laid within the mountains near to Winterfell, Winter Town was able to supply the smiths and craftsmen of the North with a decent amount of high-grade steel before they were forced to close down the mine due to the snow making such operations near impossible to complete.

While he would've preferred more steel to work with, and more raw iron would be arriving via trade vessels in the future, Nox had more than enough to set the smiths of Winterfell to work. The first project thing he had them make were the parts necessary to make a prototype printing press. The theory and make up behind the press were easy. What was not easy was the careful crating of the individual letter blocks that would then need to be carefully arranged on the printing plate. It'd taken him months into the winter, but eventually he managed to get the press assembled and have enough letter blocks crafted to give Ned and Luwin a demonstration as to what the device was capable of. While Luwin was not necessarily impressed by the speed of which it took to assemble a single printing plate, he quickly changed his tune once he saw just how fast the press could print paper once it was set. The best of scribes could write maybe two to three pages an hour, whereas the press could print nearly twenty in the same amount of time.

The second, a much easier item, that Nox set about making were metal springs. Once again, the blacksmiths were more than a little confused as to why he wanted them to make a coil of thin metal, but after the first few were made Nox showed them how they could be attached to a carriage to create shocks. The smiths immediately stopped questioning whatever he told them to make after that. And with more than a little bit of ingenuity on behalf of the smith Mikken, they were able to create smaller, more compact springs to which Nox showed them how to create the first spring mattress.

With those two inventions, the smiths of Winterfell were working almost night and day in order to create as many parts for the press and springs. While they didn't have enough yet to begin trading, there soon would be. And Nox was positive that both would be highly sought after throughout the realm and bring in no small amount of coin.

Not that coin was necessarily a problem now, not with the amount of glass they were producing. Lord Manderly had gone above and beyond when he went to Dorne to begin trade negotiations, and now the North was receiving almost more sand than they could process. At first, the glass makers of Winterfell focused on creating glass panels for future glass gardens. But within a relatively short amount of time they had a stockpile of glass enough to build at least two more acre-sized glass gardens with some to spare. With such a surplus, the glassmakers had turned to the excess and started to _experiment_. And without him even needing to drop the suggestion, one enterprising glassmaker created a glass blowing technique. And now they were making glassware and ornate glass pieces. The first shipment of which had already headed south to King's Landing with a spring mattress and, judging by the raven they'd received a short time ago from the King, the items were very well received. Especially amongst the nobility. And now orders and promises of gold were flowing into Winterfell with each new raven that landed.

Hearing the door to his chambers open, Nox let himself smile as he felt the familiar and comforting presence that'd just waltzed into his room. "Nox, I have the reports from the laborers of Winter Town as well as the glassmakers and smiths here in Winterfell. Maester Luwin has passed on a raven from White Harbor about the latest shipment of iron ore and sand. And Lady Bethany has finalized her recommendation for two students to enter under advanced tutelage."

Pushing away from the window, Nox turned and faced Nyra properly. The woman before him now was almost unrecognizable from herself before his arrival. Over the past two years, he'd spent almost as much time with her as he had with Jon and Robb, his acolytes. Under his guidance, she'd learned how to read and write as well as gaining a firm grasp of mathematics. As his projects evolved and became more and more complicated, he started to rely on her to handle some of the more mundane tasks, mostly writing reports and organizing shipments. And she had excelled at every task he'd given her. In a relatively short amount of time, she found herself relieved from her duties as maid in the great keep and reassigned to be his personal assistant. A transition that caused no small amount of rumors to begin circulating around Winterfell.

"Start with the raven from White Harbor." Nox said, making his way around his makeshift office and to the desk where numerous books lay open.

Nodding, Nyra set down the arm load of parchment she was holding onto her own workstation before sorting through them and selecting one. "According to Lord Manderly, the ships sent to Essos have returned with two thousand pounds of raw iron ore. And the ships from Dorne and Dragonstone should be passing by the Vale soon. Each of which should have a thousand pounds of sand and other ingredients onboard."

Nodding to himself, Nox began running calculations through his head as to how long the raw materials would need to arrive here at Winterfell. Unfortunately, with the White Knife frozen over the cargo would have to be transported by land, through the snow. Which would more than double the amount of time it would normally take for them to arrive. "Send a message to Winter Town and tell them to begin preparing the blast furnace for the arrival of the ore. Lord Stark wants this next batch to be used to craft weapons and armor rather than parts."

Picking up a quill from an ink pot, Nyra made a few quick notes before turning to the next missive. "The glassmakers' quota for glass panes for the month has been met and they are ready to begin shipping them out."

Flipping through his own notes, Nox found his notes from the last meeting he'd had with Ned about the glass gardens. "Lord Stark wants this shipment to be sent to White Harbor so that they can begin construction of their own new glass gardens. We'll use the transports that are carrying the iron ore and sand to send the glass to White Harbor." Nyra nodded, making more notes as he talked. "How many students has Bethany recommend for further tutelage?"

"Two," Nyra replied, flipping her paper over yet again to read the report from Bethany. "A young girl from Winter Town whose mother is a…well that's not important. And a glassmaker's son as well."

Bethany had validated his trust in her and her daughter several times over since arriving in Winterfell. The ex-noblewoman had taken no time at all in setting up a small school room within the confines of Winterfell and a second in Winter Town. She then began teaching two days a week, once in each set up classroom. At first there were very few children and even fewer adolescents that went to her class. But within a month's turn or two, word of her teaching how to read, write, and how to perform basic math spread and her classes filled to the point where she had to add an additional class in Winter Town just to keep up with all of the students she had.

"I'll trust in her judgement then," Nox nodded. "Set up rooms for the both the boy and girl here in the lower levels of the tower, near to Bethany's chambers. And be sure to remind them of the limits here in the tower. And set them to task with creating printing boards."

Nyra nodded and quickly began to write out the request to receive the necessary furnishings from Winterfell's steward Vayon Poole. After having completely restored the Broken Tower to its former glory, Nox had immediately set about carving out sections of the tower for specified uses. The lower levels were to be the future site of the dormitories that would house the students of the Winterfell college while the middle levels contained a small library and lecture halls. The top four layers of the Tower however were reserved solely for Nox. And the only ones allowed entry were Lord Stark and his family, Maester Luwin, Steward Poole, and whoever else Nox allowed entry too. The topmost layer was Nox's own personal chambers, while the level just below, where he currently was, was his office. The next level down was a dedicated training and mediation chamber, while the level just below that were to be where Nox would house his future Force acolytes. But as his only acolytes were Jon and Robb at the moment, both of whom had rooms in the great keep, the only other occupant in the upper most levels of the tower was Nyra. Which of course did absolutely nothing to quell the rumors circulating about the two of them.

"Is there anything else, Nox?"

"No," he replied before holding out his hand and summoning his cloak and lightsaber to him from across the room. "Please see to it that the orders are filled out and submitted to Poole for Lord Stark's approval by the evening meal."

"Of course," Nyra nodded with a smile. "When have I ever let you down, Alim?"

His name leaving her lips brought a smile to his face and a swelling within his chest. "Well," he said, walking up to her and slowly wrapping her in his arms. "There is a first time for everything."

Lightly touching his lips to hers, Nox let himself go as he held her in his arms. Despite what the rumors of Winterfell said, their relationship, at least the physical aspect of their relationship, was still new. And it wasn't quite to the point where they were sharing a room. Not for a lack of her trying though. But the pain of losing Ashara had cut Nox deeply. It'd taken him a long time to heal. And while his heart still ached when thinking of his lost love, it was nowhere near as painful now that Nyra had slowly made her way into his heart.

"Enough," she breathed, breaking their kiss and forcing him to take a step back. "If you keep doing that, then I won't let you leave your room. And you have a training session with Lord Robb and young Jon to attend. Don't want to leave your acolytes on their own. Especially not today. Word is you're going to putting the boys through sparring practice today. And you know how much they have been looking forward to this. I bet they're both already in the godswood waiting for you. And the Greyjoy lad who's taken to following them around like a lost pup."

Pulling back from her, Nox pushed his emotions and wants down and let himself seep back into the pull of the dark side ever so slightly. It would not do to be soft. Not today. "I doubt that they will be feeling the same once they realize just what they will be going through."

Leaving Nyra to her work, Nox began to descend from his chambers. Her didn't make it very far, however. For as he was passing by his private meditation and training chamber, he felt a very familiar presence coming from within. It wasn't the presence that made him stop, he'd given her permission to use his meditation chambers when needed, but rather the feelings of frustration, anger, and more than a slight amount of amusement that was coming from within. Deciding that whatever had happened needed to be addressed sooner rather than later, Nox ducked into the room.

His meditation room was rather spartan, having only had a short time to set the room to his liking and lacking several things he required. A single window provided the light for the room, which was mostly empty save for the six large round stones he'd levitated up into the tower that were arranged in a hexagon pattern in the center of the room. Besides the stones, the only other objects in the room were three wooden training dummies of various design made of ironwood along the far back wall. And it was against one of these dummies that he found Asha, practicing a few of the hand to hand combat techniques he'd shown her.

Standing just within the entrance, he watched the young woman move through the steps he'd shown her, her arms and legs connecting the various 'limbs' that were attached to the dummy as she ran through the kata. Waiting until she'd finished, Nox cleared his throat loudly, making her start slightly as he approached. "When I said that you could have access to these rooms, I did not envision that you would abuse the privilege so thoroughly."

Asha merely snorted at that. "Just needed to hit something after dealing with that woman."

Shaking his head, Nox immediately put together the source of her anger. While his relationship might not have been the best with Lady Stark, mostly due to her belief that the Force was magic and therefore a creation from the Seven Hells that should be either purged from the lands or avoided like a plague, he at least was able to keep a civil tone with the woman and the Septa Mordane thanks in no small part to his years of practice amongst the Sith. Asha had no such practice. And she had no problem telling the Septa and Lady Stark exactly what she thought of them both and their views on what was 'proper' for a woman. "And by that woman, are you referring to Lady Stark or the Septa?"

"Septa," Asha snorted. "Although I'm sure by now she's gone and told Lady Stark exactly what I told her. And that cold fish will no doubt want to have words about my 'unsightly' behavior."

Shaking his head, Nox stopped a few paces short of her. "And what happened exactly?"

Knowing he wasn't going to let it go, Asha stepped away from the dummy. "She made a remark on how if I didn't start behaving properly as a 'lady' of my station should, then she was going to switch my ass raw."

"And what did you tell her in return?"

At this, Asha hesitated a moment. "I told her that if she comes within ten paces of me with a switch then I was going to shove my axe up her withered, crusty, unused cunt."

"Impressive word usage." Nox nodded. "But altogether, unwise. We've spoken about this before have we not? That while your anger does you credit, there is a time and place for it. And that this not here and now."

He could almost taste Asha's shame. "Yes…Master."

"Yet the lesson has not sunken in apparently." Nox remarked, stepping away from her. "Perhaps, I have been too lenient in your training then and I must make my point more…forcefully."

Force lightning arched from his fingertips, slamming into Asha and sending the young woman to the ground, crying out in agony. Her screams would've undoubtedly raised an alarm had Nox not been actively using the Force to make the room completely soundproof. Holding her under the torment for a few seconds, Nox ceased his attack, leaving Asha gasping on the floor as she tried to recover. "Stand. And remember, you are the one who asked for this."

Nodding her head, Asha slowly rose back to her feet and pulled on her slight connection to the Force to fight through the pain coursing through her body. It hadn't taken Asha long to put together the meaning behind his cryptic comments back on Pyke when he'd first encountered her. And after witnessing Jon and Robb lifting rocks with the Force, she'd immediately approached him and demanded to be trained as well.

Unfortunately for Asha, she had two aspects working against her when she was compared against Jon and Robb. The first was that her Force connection was far less potent than the two boys, or indeed any of the Stark children. While her tenacity and ruthlessness would've allowed her to survive the Trials of Korriban for some time, she would've never been able to become a full Sith. But this wasn't Korriban. And with such limited resources at his disposal in terms of acolytes, he couldn't afford to be picky in who he trained.

The second aspect that was working against her was her sex. While the North and the Iron Islands could be more liberal about a woman's place in the world, unfortunately Lord Stark was not of the same mind. Not entirely. Oh, Nox was sure that in time he could convince him, and he would have to due to Arya being potentially just as powerful as Jon. But the shadow of his sister and her 'reckless ways' still weighed heavily on the mind of the Warden of the North. And that was without Lady Stark pressing her views on what a woman's place was.

So, in the end, while he had agreed to train her, he was doing it in secret. Away from the eyes of Starks and everyone else. Although he was pretty sure that Ned knew what was happening. The man had honed his ability to sense aspects of people through the Force though the years. And he had to have known that Asha's power was growing steadily.

He had intended to train her like he was Jon and Robb, but she had nixed that quickly. She didn't want him to take it easy on her. If she couldn't be as powerful as he, which he had bluntly told her so, then she wanted to be as strong and skilled as a Mandalorian. It was an ambitious goal. And one that confirmed his thoughts on just who should be the one to take over the Iron Islands in the future. So, he'd agreed to her request. And while he was still teaching her both aspects of the Force, he was not taking it easy on her.

"Good," Nox nodded approvingly as she fought through the pain. "While I am teaching the boys, you are to stay here and meditate. Use your anger, your fear and your drive to grow stronger to help you delve into the Force. And by the time I return, you will be do three rotations of the stones. Understood?"

Asha's eyes widened before flickering to the hexagon of stones in the center of the room. He'd carefully crafted each stone in a rough copy of muntuur stones. While none were as heavy, they were still a good training tool. "Yes, Master." Asha nodded, making her way to the center of the room and kneeling between the stones.

Leaving her to her meditation, Nox gave her one last passing glance through the Force before leaving her alone. He had no fear of her not doing exactly as he'd instructed. She'd made that mistake only once before. And he made sure she fully understood what it meant to disrespect her Master in the future. And since then, she'd not once failed to do as instructed.

Descending through the Tower, Nox passed by the empty chambers that would soon belong to the two new initiates, as well as the ones belonging to Bethany and her daughter before making his way across a short bridge and entering the First Keep.

Much like the once 'Broken Tower', the First Keep had been renovated. Though, granted, less than a third of the Keep had been cleaned up and made useable. And that third had been divided up into staging rooms for the printing press, apartments for glassmakers and smiths, as well as a public bath. In time, Nox hoped to renovate the entirety of the First Keep so that the upper layers were primarily apartments for the workers, while the lower levels would become production facilities. He was still trying to introduce the idea of somewhat modernized manufacturing to Lord Stark and the rest of the North. But they were starting to come around to his way of thinking. Especially as they began to see just how efficient some of the processes could become.

Walking out of the First Keep, his ears immediately picked up on the sounds of sparring and loud voices coming just a short distance away. Knowing exactly what was going on, Nox walked towards the commotion. The training grounds of Winterfell were near standing room only as hundreds of men of the North trained under the careful eye of the Captain of the Guard, Ser Jory. Keeping his distance to not interrupt the training, Nox reached out with his senses to get a better look at how the men were faring.

Unfortunately, this was one aspect that Nox had not been completely successful in. While many aspects of his training program were being utilized, it was nowhere near what Nox thought to be enough. He'd wanted Ned to form a professional army that numbered in the tens of thousands. But unfortunately, that just wasn't feasible. Mostly due to the current mindset of Westeros as a whole. Lords had Knights that they could call upon and levies that could be raised during times of war. But no Lord, not even the King, had a true standing army of professionals. That, and the fact that the North simply couldn't afford to keep such an army paid for a long time all but killed his first outline.

But Stark had seen the value in much of what he'd suggested. So, he'd implemented a new order. All men and boys of age that lived on the Stark land would attend military training for one month each year. For that month they would live in Winterfell and train day and night under the guidance of Ser Jory, Ser Rodrik, and even Nox himself when he had the time. It wasn't perfect, nor anywhere close to what Nox wanted, but it was better than nothing. At least now, when the time came to call the banners to war, the levies would at least know the difference between their polearm and their cock.

But now, with winter fully set in, there were many in Winterfell that had nothing but time on their hands. Which meant more time to train the men. Currently, the men and boys were doing circuits around the obstacle course Nox had designed, and then ran when Jory said that such a course could not be done in the any reasonable amount of time. "Come on, you lackwits!" Ser Jory yelled, picking up a man who'd just fallen to the ground and forcing him to keep moving. "You're men of the North! Not some silly southern pussy! Now get your asses moving!"

'_Well, at least they're actually managing to complete the course. Although the amount of time it took for them to realize that they would need to help one another to complete the course is more than a little worrying. But, hey, better late than never, I guess_.'

Deciding not to interfere with the drills, Nox quietly made his way away from the First Keep and towards the godswood. Despite the changes to the once Broken Tower and the First Keep, relatively little else had changed throughout the rest of Winterfell since his arrival over two years ago. The only real noticeable difference in the layout of the castle was the extra glass garden behind the main keep, and the expansion of the forges to accommodate the glass smiths and metal smiths that'd begun making their way towards Winterfell looking for work.

Passing by the great keep and the glass gardens, Nox made his way into the godswood, the two guards stationed just outside the entrance not even bothering to stop him as he passed them by. Making his way through the trees, Nox wasn't surprised as he made it to the weirwood in the center of the godswood and found that he was not the first one to arrive. Jon was already there, dressed in training clothes and holding a weighted training blade in his hands as he moved through the steps of Form III Soresu, one of Nox's preferred forms due to its ability for defense and to allow him time to utilize the Force during combat.

Staying out of sight, Nox observed the boy as he went through the motions. Of the four he was training now, well three really, and only two of them officially as Theon unfortunately had next to no Force sensitivity unlike his sister. Jon was without a doubt the most promising pupil he had. Outside of his high Force aptitude, which was well more than enough to make him a favored student on Korriban, the boy had a drive to prove himself that far outmatched any of the others. And he knew exactly why that was. He wanted to cast aside the title of bastard that a select few in the castle made sure he was reminded of almost daily. He wanted to prove that he was more than that. And that desire to prove himself and the anger that festered at the title gave him the ability to progress at a rate that was almost astonishing.

"Left foot forward by six inches and angle your right arm down more during that sequence to help maintain your balance."

Jon stopped almost immediately, turning on his heel and bowing to him. "Master Nox."

Stepping out from the trees, Nox made his way towards his most promising acolyte. "Again."

Nox didn't need to clarify as Jon immediately began running through the Form again. As he went though, Nox would periodically make him hold certain positions or ask him questions as to why some moves were performed as they were, testing both the boy's stamina and his knowledge. After running through the entire Form twice more, Nox called a stop to the exercise. "Enough. Your brother and Theon have arrived as well as the others."

Turning his back on Jon, Nox faced towards the lone path that led through the godswood. Ned was walking in front of the group with Ser Rodrik next to him along with Theon and Robb. And behind them were fifteen men at arms that were carrying tourney blades and looked more than slightly nervous as to why they'd been allowed access to the godswood while Nox was instructing. It was no secret in Winterfell that Nox was instructing the boys, but in the past two years, no one had seen the boys use the Force at all. But today, that was going to change.

"Nox," Ned nodded to him in greeting before taking his customary place near the weirwood with Ser Rodrik following close behind him.

With the Lord of Winterfell moving away, the Stark men at arms awkwardly shifted in their place while Jon joined Robb and Theon in a line before Nox. As he did, he couldn't help but notice the slight spike in resentment that wafted off Theon. It was obvious to all that there was no love lost between Jon and Theon. Theon was older, larger, and the 'heir' to the Iron Islands. And in his mind that made him inherently better than anyone else, especially a 'bastard'. Yet Jon had managed to utterly defeat Theon in everything that the two boys competed in. Be it during their studies or in the yard under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik.

"Today, you three will be sparring under my direction," Nox informed the three, garnering a spike of excitement from each of the boys. "And you will be using tourney blades today. Weighted tourney blades."

While Ser Rodrik was a competent teacher, he tended to almost…shelter the boys. At least he did in Nox's opinion. If it were up to him, the boys would be using live steel. But Ned had put a stop to that. It was tourney blades at the most, at least for now.

"Are we going to be sparring against one another, Master Nox?" Robb asked, nearly bouncing in place.

Nox's lips twitched upwards as he wondered just how long the boy's excitement would last. He intended today to be much like a training session under the blade masters of Korriban. In other words, pushing the boys to their limits and beyond. "Not at first." Nox explained motioning towards the fifteen men at arms behind them. "First, you will have to spar with the men behind you. First, one on one. Then, two on one. Then another round of two on one. The round will be over when you make a killing blow on your adversaries through whatever means you have available to you. After each fight, you will then make four laps around the perimeter of the godswood before returning to this spot and proceeding to the next fight. Once you have defeated all the men standing behind you, you will then spar against one another until there is only one of you left standing. And as for you men, should I believe that you are hesitating or taking it the slightest bit easy on them, you will face _me_. And I won't be holding back against you."

All three boys' eyes widened as they cast passing glances back at the men lined up behind them. "That's…That's impossible!" Theon almost yelled.

"Is it?" Nox asked, making the three boys shift their weight nervously as he pulled on the dark side of the Force and expanded his presence. "Then why am I wasting my time training you? 'Impossible' is merely a state of mind. But if you truly believe it, then the way out is that way and quit wasting my time."

"What's the matter, Greyjoy? Afraid you'll fall behind?" Jon taunted.

Theon scoffed. "You wish, bastard, just concerned you won't be able to keep up with us trueborn heirs is all."

Jon began moving towards Theon, nothing more than a slightly shifting of his weight, but he was stopped almost immediately as Robb held his hand out, stopping his brother. "Theon, don't call my brother a bastard," Robb, ever the peacekeeper between the two, said to the elder boy before turning towards Jon. "And, Jon, don't taunt him if you can't handle taunting back. You know he's just trying to get under your skin."

"Well-spoken, Robb," Nox congratulated the young man, who immediately preened up the rare compliment that Nox gave out. "Now, what are you three standing around here for? Get your asses moving before I start using your behinds as target practice."

He emphasized his words by raising his right hand and letting a small amount of Force lightning dance across his fingertips. While he wasn't as harsh as the Overseers on Korriban, mostly since he doubted Ned would approve of such treatment, he wasn't above giving his acolytes some motivation. One that all three had been the recipient of at some point and time. Nothing more than a slight jolt, but enough to not want it to happen again. The three boys nearly kicked up a cloud of dust amongst the snow as they hurried to gather a tourney blade from one of the men at arms.

As the boys took their positions, the men at arms wasted no time in attacking the young boys. None of them wanting to face the prospect of going against himself. '_Good,_' Nox nodded, watching as the boys began fighting against their much larger and more skilled opponents. '_They need to push themselves and reach their limits if they're going to have any hope of surpassing them_.'

* * *

Walking out of the small sept that had been built for her in Winterfell, Lady Catelyn Tully-Stark paused momentarily to tighten her hold on her heavy over cloak as she fought against the chill of the Northern air. Even after nearly ten years and two true winters in the North, she had not adjusted to the cold bite of the northern air as it kissed her skin. During these times she usually stayed to her rooms and would throw another log or two on the fire to fight against the cold. But today she couldn't. She'd received joyous news from the Maester earlier that day. Joyous. And terrifying. She was with child again. A blessing from the Seven. But at the same time, she was terrified. For while the Seven had blessed her with four, soon to be five, strong healthy children, the old gods of the North and the First Men had cursed her children with the taint of magic. So now she prayed and prayed to the gods of her family that the Seven would intervene and not allow the newest life growing within her to also be cursed with the taint of magic.

As she began her trek back to the great keep, she couldn't help but hear the hammering of anvils and the sound bellows blowing as the newly made glass was quenched. While she might despise the sorcerer for his unholy powers and his corruption of her children, even she could admit to his usefulness in helping to aid the North. But that, in and of itself, was another problem altogether. He was becoming too powerful. His influence amongst the Northern Lords and people was growing by the day. How long would it be before he was more influential than her husband? How long before he usurped her children's place as Lords and Ladies of the North? She knew in her heart that was exactly why the man was favoring the bastard so much. To give him a puppet to install so he could truly lead the North. But, unfortunately, her wolf husband did not share her concerns. One of frequent points of contention that had been arising between them as of late. But hopefully the child growing in her womb, a child she prayed would not be cursed like her other children, would be able to begin to heal the gap that had been forming between them.

"Lady Stark, I fear I must have words with you once more."

Turning, she found Septa Mordane making her way towards the small Sept from the direction of the great keep. From the time of day, and the look on the Septa's face, Cat knew exactly what the Septa wanted to talk to her about. "Very well," she nodded, motioning towards the Sept. "But let us have words inside, out of the cold."

The Septa nodded and obediently followed Cat into the Sept and out of the cold. While she appreciated what her husband did in building her this Sept so that she might pray to her gods, it was almost insultingly small. Just barely large enough for a handful of people to stand side by side along with the statues of the Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, and the Stranger.

"The girl has to leave Lady Stark!" Septa Mordane nearly shouted the moment the door shut behind the two of them. "She is no proper lady and never will be! Honestly, I don't know what the King was thinking sending her here. She should've been sent to the Silent Sisters the moment she stepped foot off those godless islands."

There was no need for the Septa to elaborate on just who she spoke of. Asha Greyjoy. The young girl who had become the bane of the Septa, and indeed Cat's, life. The girl absolutely refused to accept what was expected of her as a noble lady of the realm. She outright refused to dress properly, even going as far as burning the dresses Cat had delivered to her. Her manners were atrocious as she proved when she outdrank several guardsmen one night. And instead of performing proper womanly activities like sewing or learning how to manage a household, she instead constantly sought out the training grounds for a fight or she sought out the sorcerer to pester him to teach her. Which, thankfully, he had refused.

Under normal circumstances, Cat would've had the girl banished from Winterfell within the first moon of her arrival. And indeed, she had tried, suggesting to her Lord Husband that the girl would do better in another house, far away. Like the Mormonts, for example. But her husband had refused her request. Stating that it was the King's desire that he raise the two Greyjoy children as his wards, and that was what he intended to do.

After failing to rid Winterfell of her presence, Cat had done everything in her power to try and lessen the girl's potential to corrupt her two young daughters. But in that, she was only partially successful. Sansa, her rapidly growing and beautiful red wolf, was becoming a fine example of a true lady. Her manners were perfect. Her singing was excellent. Her sewing was better than even Cat's. Truly, one day she would make a southern lord a great wife. Perhaps she would even be graced with becoming the next queen. And, indeed, that was a possibility with her husband's close friendship with the King. And, best of all, despite the sorcerer trying to tempt and corrupt her by saying she had the capability to learn magic like her elder brother and the bastard, she at least had the fortitude to resist the temptation. A fact that she thanked the Seven for daily.

Arya, however, was the complete opposite of her sister. Arya had a near obsession with Asha and seemed to idolize her, much to Cat's dismay. Her little girl had even taken to trying to forgo wearing proper women's clothes, until Cat had put a hard stop to that, which had caused quite the tantrum from her younger daughter. Then there was the fact that, unlike Sansa, Arya was proud and excited with the fact that she had the ability to use magic and was pestering herself and Ned almost daily about when she would be able to join the boys in their training. Gods blessed; Ned had refused so far. But she knew that it was only a matter of time before he relented and allowed her to be trained. When that happened and when word got out, she would _never_ be able to attain a marriage to a proper lord.

"What did Asha do this time, Septa Mordane?" Cat asked, bringing herself back to the present and putting the despair she felt with her younger daughter to the side for now.

"I told her that she needed to start behaving as a proper noble lady of the realm. Or I would punish her accordingly to try and prevent her behavior from affecting young Sansa and Arya." Septa Mordane said, her head held high as she did. "And she responded with the most vulgar of insults."

Shaking her head, Cat was at a loss. She could discipline the girl, and would do so, but she knew that it would be a fruitless venture. Perhaps if Asha had arrived at Winterfell when she was still Theon's age, she could've molded her into a proper lady. But now it was far too late for the girl. '_May the new gods watch over her future husband_.' "I will speak to my Lord Husband about the matter and see to it that the girl apologizes and is properly disciplined for her words."

The Septa nodded, seemingly pleased with the decision before moving aside so that Cat could leave. Once outside, she immediately tightened her hold on her cloak to fight against the cold. Looking around the courtyard, Cat noticed the denizens of Winterfell going about their duties, few seemingly bothered by the cold or the wind. '_Even after all this time, do the gods of the North still reject me?_' She wondered idly to herself as she shivered. '_Is this because their curse for not being able to love the bastard? To give him the name I promised them? No! I will not allow the thought_.'

Holding her head high while trying to not to show just how much the cold bothered her, Cat set about to find her husband. Entering the great keep, Cat let out a breath of relief as the warm air of the interior of the keep hit her. '_Not quite the same as sitting before a warm fire, but better than nothing,_' she thought, setting off towards her husband's solar. But to her dismay when she arrived, she found the room empty. '_Where could he be at this hour?_'

Stepping out of the solar, she spotted a servant walking away from her. "You, girl. Where is my Lord Husband?"

When the servant girl turned around, her arms laden with scrolls, Cat just barely fought back groan at her misfortune. '_Of course, it would be the sorcerer's whore. Nyra_.'

When she'd first arrived in Winterfell, Cat had initially had high hopes for the girl. Hopes that she would see the light and turn to the Seven, a task Cat had set about trying to accomplish with all the servants to very little actual success. But then _he_ arrived. She'd trusted the girl to watch over him, but she underestimated the sorcerer's cunning. He turned the girl against her. Made her no better than the whores who serviced everyone who had two coppers to their name out in Winter Town. She'd tried to dismiss the girl, but again the sorcerer proved himself most cunning by taking the girl in and making her his…what was it he called her? A 'secretary' or some such nonsense. '_A fancy title for a whore, no doubt. Granted, no one has caught the two in the act. But why else would the sorcerer raise a serving girl up so high and take such an interest in her?_'

"Apologies, Lady Stark," the girl replied, dipping into a shallow curtsey while keeping hold on the papers in her arms. "I have not seen the Lord Stark. But Master Nox has gone to train the boys in sparring today in the godswood. Perhaps Lord Stark is overseeing the training as he often does."

Cat sniffed at the subtle slight in the girl's tone. Ever since the sorcerer had gotten his hooks into her, he'd turned Nyra against her. Seven be praised none of the other servants had been corrupted. But that was primarily because she kept a tight rein on those who had the honor of serving a great and noble House.

"Very well, be on your way," Cat said dismissively before stopping as her curiosity got the better of her. "Where are you off to? And what are those you are carrying so closely?"

Nyra looked her straight in the eye. Another slight. "Reports from White Harbor on the status of new shipments of raw materials, as well as reports of progress made by both the glassmakers and the smiths for Steward Vayon and Lord Stark."

Cat felt her ire raise. This was even more proof that the sorcerer was going to try and wrest control away from her children in the future. Such important reports and ravens should've been sent directly to her Lord Husband and herself. Not some upstart sorcerer and his whore! "Very well, be on your way." Cat replied, doing her best to keep her expression neutral as the serving girl curtseyed again and walked away calmly.

'_The nerve!_' Cat fumed, turning on her heel and making her away towards the rear entrance of the great keep that led towards the godswood. '_Her and the sorcerer act as if they own Winterfell. They forget who they serve. I need to talk to Ned about this again. But I don't know how to broach the subject. He's already stated that he doesn't share my concerns as to the sorcerer's intention. And last time when I tried to push the issue to the point where he yelled…Seven, his eyes. They turned into the eyes of abeast, not a man. And I never want to see those eyes on my wolf again. Or my children_.'

Making her way to the godswood, Cat stopped just as she was about to cross the threshold that led into the ancient woods nestled within the great walls of Winterfell. Passing by the guards without giving them a thought, Cat's steps faltered as she walked amongst the ancient trees that belonged to the old gods of the First Men. It didn't matter that she'd married into House Stark, nor that she had obediently bore her Lord Husband four healthy children with a fifth now on the way. The old gods were not _her_ gods. And she never felt welcome in the godswood. It was almost as if, while walking amongst the trees, the old gods were judging her and finding her wanting. '_I cannot keep my promise_.' She thought to herself, fighting back against the unease that was growing within her with each step she took. '_I cannot give him that hope, that desire for more that those like him are born with. If he is given the Stark name…he will covet his brother's position more than ever. I can't let that come to pass. I won't_.'

Approaching the heart of the godswood, Cat could start to hear voices from ahead. Shouting, cheers. And the steady sound of training blades striking one another. '_Nyra said that Nox was training Robb and the bastard today…l have never seen just how he is manipulating my son. Perhaps this will be a chance to see just what foulness he is teaching him_.' Slowing her march, she veered slightly off the path and into the trees so that she could watch what was going on, hopefully without being seen.

Staying partially behind a tree, she came upon the clearing and immediately frowned at what she saw. Nox was standing with his back towards her, facing the center of the clearing while around him over a dozen men of Winterfell were laying down or sitting while nursing some sort of injury or another. Even the Greyjoy boy was on the side, the side of his face reddened as he clutched at his side in obvious pain.

And in the center of the clearing was Robb and her husband's bastard. The two were sparring against one another and, much to her dismay, they were not using wooden blades. No. They had blunted tourney blades. Which they _shouldn't_ be using. They were both far too young. She didn't care much about the possibility of Jon being hurt. But she was concerned about the possibility of Robb being injured.

As she watched the two trade blows back and forth, she began noticing things. Robb was favoring one leg over the other, almost limping as he moved, and he was frequently rolling his left arm as if there was something was not quite right with it. '_They are already hurt!_' she realized with a start, her eyes narrowing in on Nox. '_Why has he not stopped this? Where is Ned? There is no way he would allow this to continue!_'

Just as she was about to step out and put an end to the madness, she stopped herself. Jon had slipped slightly on the snow and dropped his guard. And her son had taken advantage and had his tourney blade raised, ready to end the spar in his favor. But just as the blade started to descend, Jon moved. It was impossible. His body was bent backwards nearly all the way to the ground! Yet still, he moved. His body twisting and turning in the unnatural and impossible position as he moved out of the way of the path of the blade just enough, so Robb's strike hit nothing but air.

When the boy managed to right himself, Cat was ready to intervene once more, but her eyes widened in fright as the bastard held out his hand, palm out, towards her son. She could hear her first son's grunt of pain as an invisible force struck him and sent him flying almost to the edge of the clearing, as he slid across the snow. Stopping just short of colliding with a tree.

Even years later, Cat would never remember crossing the distance that lay between herself and the bastard who dared raise his hand against his father's trueborn son. But cross the distance she did, bypassing the sorcerer and all the men of Winterfell who dared to just _sit and watch_ as the bastard used foul, unholy magic against her son! At the last moment, Jon turned towards her, his eyes widening in fear as she bore down on him.

Her full arm slap echoed throughout the now deathly silent godswood as Jon was sent to the ground, clutching at his face. "_HOW DARE YOU!?_" she screamed, glaring down at the cowering boy at her feet. Her fury was so potent and raw that her innermost thoughts just spilled out of her mouth with no filter as she tore into the bastard. The world fell away from her as she focused completely upon the cowed and recoiling creature below her. "You dare use such _unholy magic_ against your _betters?!_ I'd always known you were a true _bastard_ and one day would succumb to your _bastard instincts_ to fight against your betters. _I will see you thrown out of Winterfell BY SUNSET!_ You and the sorcerer! Who is no doubt grooming you to take over Winterfell _so he can rule the North through you!_ By the gods, I don't know what I was _thinking_ years ago when I _begged the old gods_ to spare your life from the pox after the Seven _granted my wish_ to remove you from my—!"

"_Catelyn!_"

Cat froze. Her words dying on her tongue. She knew that deep voice. The same voice that often spoke to her softly and offered words of comfort and support. But now…she heard none of those things. Only rage.

Turning, she prayed to the Seven that he wasn't there. That it had only been her imagination or Seven-sent spirit within herself yelling at her to bring her back to her senses. But as she turned towards the source of the voice, she realized that the Seven appeared to have abandoned her in this moment. It was no doubt the influence of the old gods keeping them away. For standing just a short distance away from her was her Lord Husband, Ned. His fists held tightly and stiffly to his side and his face set as if he were about to pass judgment on a criminal. But the worst were his eyes. No longer were they the dark grey that she cared for. Instead, they were again that beastly yellow.

Swallowing, her eyes flickered from her husband to his bastard, who was staring up at her with wide eyes holding his cheek with tears flowing down his face. Looking around, Cat tried to find some support. All the men were staring at her as if they'd never seen her before. As if she wasn't their Lady Stark but rather some stranger who'd just wandered in. Even Robb, her wonderful first-born son, was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. It was in that moment that it truly struck her. She was alone.

"Ned…" she began, only to stop as her husband held up his hand.

"Training is over for the day," Ned declared, his dark and bestial eyes never leaving her. "Nox. Take the boys to the Maester and see to their injuries. And the rest of you, you are all sworn to secrecy. Should I hear even a single utterance of what has been spoken today, I will find the worst post imaginable and leave you there for the rest of your lives. Now, go. All of you."

The feeling of dread within her swelled as all the men, her son included, gathered themselves and quickly left the godswood. Leaving her alone with Ned. Once alone, Ned didn't say a word. He just stood there, staring at her with his beast-like eyes. "Ned—"

Her words died in her throat as Ned held up his hand, the simple gesture silencing her completely. Closing his eyes and turning away from her, Cat could almost see him visibly composing himself. When he turned back to her and opened his eyes once more, his grey eyes that she had started to care for had returned. "You spoke of the Seven granting your wish to take Jon away." Ned said, his voice empty and emotionless. "And then you made a promise to the old gods when you asked them to heal him. What was your wish to the Seven, and what promise did you make to the old gods?"

Swallowing hard, Cat tried to think of a way out of this, but nothing came. Her secret was out, her shame. And now she had no choice but to face the consequences. She meant to simply say her peace, but when she opened her mouth the words that left her were completely different than the ones she had planned. "You brought your bastard into our home, shaming me, Ned." she started, almost startled by the harshness in her own voice. She tried to stop, but the words kept flowing from her. "You took responsibility for the boy, which I can respect. But he should have never been brought here. He should've never been shown what his trueborn siblings have because his very nature _will_ compel him to one day take it from them. He should've been sent to be raised by one of your bannermen. Or sent to the wall. But you refused to send him away because you love his mother more than me. So, I prayed to the Seven to take him away. And…they did. Just not in the way I had intended."

Ned's face remained completely passive. "The pox."

"Yes," Cat nodded, shame filling her. "When I saw him, so sick and so little, I…I regretted my prayer. I tried to take it back, but the Seven would not listen to me. Each day, he grew weaker and weaker, and my prayers did nothing. So, finally…I prayed to the old gods. I begged them to make him well. I promised them that…"

"What did you promise the old gods, Cat?" Ned pressed.

Again, it was as if the words were being forced from her. "I – I said that if they healed him that I would make you give the boy the Stark name. That I would love him like a mother should," she said, her shame and past laid bare before her husband.

Ned was silent for a long time as the two stood amongst the snow and trees of the godswood. "You never spoke a word of this to me."

Catelyn merely shook her head as her voice failed her. '_Why did I tell him? I wasn't going to…I didn't plan on deceiving him…but…why? Why did I say exactly what had happened so readily?'_

Letting out a low sigh, Ned turned away from her and faced towards the ancient weirwood that dominated the center of the godswood. "A promise made to the old gods is not one that should be taken lightly. Nor should it be ignored once made, for bad things often happened to those that did such. And if word gets out that the Lady Stark made a deal with the old gods and then failed to uphold her end of the deal, my own bannermen will begin to question not only my own but my children's right to rule to North."

Cat thought that was going a bit far. But nothing she could say now would help her in any way, so she stayed silent as she knew that. "And despite my relationship with Robert, I cannot simply ask the King of Westeros to legitimize my bastard son on a whim. He has to earn it," Ned continued, shaking his head. "Then there is also where to place him. As a legitimized son of House Stark, he cannot simply be sent away and forgotten about."

The snow crunching beneath his boots, Cat stayed still as Ned turned back to her. "I will work on finding a reason to legitimize Jon. And while I have never asked for you to be his mother, I do ask that you begin treating the boy as my son. Not as the great offense or threat you think he is. For if you had watched him interact with his brothers and sisters, you would know that he would never want to harm them in any way. I will not force you to apologize to him for today, but there will _never_ be a repeat of these events again, wife. And as for his mother…she is no threat to you, Cat. Nor to our children. She never has been, and she never will be. And that is all I will say on the matter."

Swallowing, Cat nodded submissively, she kept her head down as if she suddenly found the ground most entrancing. Not that there was much she could say her in defense. Not right now while Ned was in such a state with her. While her husband was known as the 'Quiet Wolf' and known for his honor, there was a great anger within him that few ever saw. And having now been confronted with it, Cat did not like it at all. "Yes, husband."

"Good," Ned nodded. "I will make sure that word of what happened here will not be spoken of."

Keeping her head lowered, Cat tried not to flinch as Ned lad a hand on her cheek. "Cat," his voice was softer now, soft enough that it made Catelyn look up into his eyes. "I am angry at you. Gods know that I'm angry. But I still care for you greatly. You are my wife, the Lady of Winterfell and the mother of my trueborn children. And I do love you."

Cat felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she nodded. "I love you, Ned. And I…I will be n-nicer to the bast – Jon."

"That is all I ask, Cat."

Catelyn felt herself sag in relief as she felt her husband's comforting arms encircle her and pull her in close. All too soon for her liking, her husband pulled away and let go of her. And then without another word he turned and left her to stand alone amid the godswood.

'_I didn't tell him,_' she thought, her hands going to her midsection. '_But now was not the right time…not with what happened_.'

Turning her back on the weirwood, Cat made her way back down the path in the snow leading out of the godswood. As she walked, she reflected to what just happened. '_It…It had to be the sorcerer. It had to have been. I would have never done that…! Well, I would have berated the bast – the boy for beating his trueborn siblings. But I would not have struck him! It was the sorcerer. It had to have been! Him and his whore. They tricked me somehow! But…how? And why did I say exactly what happened so quickly? It was as if…as if I could say nothing else. Even when I had planned to say something completely different…just what happened? Did the sorcerer cast some sort of spell on me without my knowing? Or, or was it Ned? No. I can't think like that. Ned wouldn't do that to me…would he?_'

Shaking away the thoughts, she lifted her chin high as she walked past the guards, neither of whom even looked in her direction. '_It had to have been the sorcerer. He's trying to discredit me. He's already turned his whore against me and now he's starting to turn my own family against me. He set this up, he must have. But I can't just order him gone from Winterfell, as much as I want too. He's too well liked by the people of the North_.'

Cat knew that she wouldn't get any support for this problem here in the North. Maybe she needed to talk to someone else? Her father most definitely. But she needed another. She needed a friend to confide in. '_Maybe Petyr? I heard that he has been made Master of Coin… Yes, perhaps I will write to him. I could use a friend that understands the threat that a sorcerer poses to my family. And perhaps he'll have an idea on how to help. He always had interesting ideas for games when we were children. Perhaps he will have another now?_'


	8. Winter Years Part 2

**Hey everyone! I'm back! Sorry for the longer than usual delay with this one…but this chapter was fighting me tooth and nail. Filler chapters, while necessary, are often my strong suit. But thankfully, this is the last one, so we will be getting back into the swing of things soon here!**

**Wanted to address a few things from reviews from the last chapter. First and foremost,…holy cow. Of all the characters in ASOIAF/GOT to create a divide amongst the fan base I was not expecting it to be Catelyn Stark of all people. As for my stance on her…well I'm not her biggest fan (obviously) but I try not to straight out bash characters if I can. Catelyn has a lot of flaws, but like Cersei she has one major redeeming quality, and that is she loves her children. Although, that can be debated. I will say after talking to my beta reader and going through the books, there is a bit of a difference between book Catelyn and show Catelyn. If you want a good break down of her characters and a lot of other ASOIAF Lore, check out the YouTube Channel Order of the Green Hand. I will warn you though, they are not kind to Catelyn Stark.**

**Second, quite a few people have been asking me about my IATB Series or the Song of the Master of Death story. As a blanket explanation, I have learned the hard way to start one story, and don't start another until you finish the one you are working on. It is very easy to get distracted and forget key points or loose interest in a story if you bounce around too much. So, I am going to focus solely on this story for now. And once it's finished I will then more than likely move back to IATB Unification War (the 3****rd**** entry in the series).**

**Lastly, I do not own ASOIAF or SW. If I did…well I wouldn't need to work my ass off 50+ hours a week lol. And a big thank you to my beta reader and brainstorm partner for this story, Tellemicus Sundance. And please feel free to leave a Review if you feel so inclined to do so! I know I've been terrible at responding to reviews, but I've got a lot of vacation I need to burn before my rollover date at the company I work for…so I will be spending a lot of time at home over the course of the next month.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Kneeling in the slowly melting snow, eleven-name-day Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, watched with bated breath as the twenty men he was with slowly moved forward through the lightly snow covered forest towards their destination. Despite the Citadel and the Maesters of the south declaring that winter was officially over, and spring was upon them, all the people of the North knew that only really mattered to the people south of the neck. For in the north, snow was an almost constant. And as the words of House Stark stated, winter always came back.

"Keeping up with us lad? Can't have you falling behind on us."

Turning his head sideways, Jon saw the leader of this group, First Ranger Harwin, the son of Hullen the horse master of Winterfell. Nodding, Jon looked around the trees surrounding him and took his time locating each Wolf Rangers that were accompanying them on this task, which in fact turned out to be all twenty of them.

The idea of the Wolf Rangers came from his brother Robb, soon after the incident in the godswood with Lady Stark nearly a year past now. Numerous lords of the North and smallfolk alike had started coming to his Lord Father claiming bandits had been raiding along the Kingsroad between Moat Cailin and Winterfell, as well as along the lesser roads that connected the major keeps of the North to one another. The Lords of the North had sent out their men to try and hunt them down, but no one had any success. It was as if the bandits were wind: striking hard and disappearing.

Many believe that they were just simple bandits that were trying to take advantage of the large terrain of the North and its sudden increase in trade to make a profit, even his Lord Father believed it to be so. But Master Nox did not. So, with his Lord father's permission, Nox had devised a trap. Four small trade caravans with a handful of covered wagons each left Winterfell and traveled through the area the bandits were known to frequently strike. Word was then sent out that each caravan would be transporting a different item, glass, food, wool, metal and other substances. But the truth was the only thing in each of the caravans were dozens of Stark men at arms.

Word eventually reached Winterfell that the bandits had indeed struck only a single caravan, the one that was supposed to be carrying glass to White Harbor. After the single attack, Master Nox was convinced that the bandits were no ordinary bandits at all, but rather sellswords from Essos and that the North needed to retaliate and rout out the bandits to send a message to Myr, the only other known maker of glass in both Essos and Westeros. His Lord Father wasn't convinced, however, neither about the bandits being sellswords or about Myr's involvement. But he did agree that the bandits were targeting the glass shipments, and therefore ordered the Lords of the North to supply more men to help defend the caravans.

For weeks afterwards, the Lords and men of the North searched for the remainder of the bandits, but there was no sight of them. In the end, it was Robb who came up with the idea of creating a special group of men modeled after a combination of the Mandalorians from Master Nox's tales and the Rangers of the Night's Watch. They would be paid soldiers, much like Master Nox wanted, and their duties would be to specifically travel the North and hunt down bandits and others that threatened the peace of the North. With Lord Stark's permission, word was quickly sent out to every nearby settlement that they were looking for volunteers to create this new group of rangers, what their duties would entail, and that they would be compensated accordingly.

At first, dozens maybe even more than a hundred men, both old and young, came to Winterfell looking to join this new group. But Jon was sure that almost all were lured in by the promise of coin rather than anything else. Unfortunately for volunteers, it was not Ser Rodrik or even Ser Jory that was responsible for training them, but rather Master Nox. Within a few days, over half of the volunteers had left. And by the time that Nox had declared them 'mostly fit' for their first assignment, there were only twenty left. And now Jon was with those twenty men that managed to make it through Master Nox's training, hunting down the remaining bandits and trying to find just where the men had come from in the first place.

"Aye," Jon nodded, breathing deep and calling on the Force to try and calm his racing heart like Master Nox had taught him to do. "I can keep up."

"Good," Harwin nodded. "Lord Stark and your sorcerer said you'd be an advantage to us in finding these fuckers. Hope they were right. And I hope the sorcerer taught you a few tricks that will be of use to us. Cause I have no fucking clue how to find these fuckers that are raiding our lines."

Keeping his mouth shut, Jon bit back the retort that he wanted to let loose. While the people of Winterfell overall had treated him better than Lady Stark ever had, in the end, he was still a bastard in their eyes. Something that Master Nox had reminded him of several times. _'Your name is but a name, Jon __Snow_,' his Master had told him. '_It does not define you, however much people may believe it otherwise. And until such time as you can prove those __naysayers__ wrong, wear your title, embrace it. Take away that which others feel makes them have power over you. And you will find that they will never be able to use your name against you. And in time, you will prove them all for fools_.'

Closing his eyes, Jon knelt and placed the palm of his right hand against the ground. Closing his eyes, Jon let out a low breath as he delved deeply into the force, concentrating the swirling power within him into the ground and then reaching out to feel his surroundings. He could feel the trees, the grass, the animals stirring about the woods as they made themselves scarce. But most of all, he could feel the slight sensation that he'd been searching for.

Keeping his eyes closed, Jon kept his right hand firmly pressed against the ground and let the Force guide his left hand as he pointed off into the distance. "They're that way," he said with conviction. "An hour, maybe two by foot."

He could also feel Harwin's doubt. "You sure, boy?"

"Yes," Jon nodded, opening his eyes and standing upright. "After all, Master Nox has taught me and my trueborn siblings a few 'tricks'. This is one of mine."

Even after studying under Master Nox for several years, it still amazed Jon just how versatile the magic, or rather the Force, truly was. Between him, Robb and Arya, as Sansa had rejected any form of instruction from Master Nox, each of them had their strengths and weaknesses when it came to using their newfound powers. Robb almost had an _aura_ about him, as Master Nox described it. He was a natural leader and could think quickly, answering questions during their lessons with Maester Luwin almost as soon as the Maester asked them.

Arya's Force abilities had formed in a way that was far different than Robb's or his own. His beloved little sister could hardly lift a stone with the Force. But, instead, she could use the Force to strengthen her small body in a way that made her faster and almost physically stronger than Robb and himself. To be sure, both himself and Robb could do the same. But where they needed to concentrate to achieve a desired result, Arya could do it naturally. And not only that, but she had the uncanny ability to make herself disappear. Not literally, of course, but it was almost as if she could make people momentarily forget her presence. Of course, this had caused more than a few arguments with Lady Stark as Arya frequently used her gifts to skirt her 'womanly' lessons with Septa Mordane.

And as for himself, he had developed a skill that Master Nox was most interested in. He could track anyone or anything. Even days after they'd passed by and even if they hadn't left any obvious signs. Master Nox had called it 'Force Tracking', and stated that in time, Jon would be able to track down any individual even if the trail was days or even weeks old. At first, Jon hadn't known what to think of his powers. He wanted to be able to use lightning like Master Nox, but instead the Force had manifested itself within him to give him this ability. To say he'd been disappointed had been an understatement. But after several weeks with Master Nox developing his powers, Jon had begun to see the benefit of such a skill. It wasn't just game or the odd bandit that he could track in the open. But in Winterfell, he could enter a room and, with a decent amount of concentration, could even identify and locate those who'd been in the room recently.

And it was because of his tracking skills that he was now with the Wolf Rangers, hunting down the bandits that'd been plaguing their trade lines for months. Not that he'd be doing any fighting of course. Despite being trained by Master Nox for years, his father had yet to gift him a true blade of his own. So instead, all he had to make do with was the small dagger that'd been gifted to him by his father on his last name-day.

Staying a few paces behind the rangers, Jon did his utmost to keep up with the older, more experienced men of Winterfell. By the time one of the rangers that was leading the group and was currently standing at the crest of a small hill raised his hand calling for halt, Jon was nearly out of breath and had to lean up against a tree to steady himself while he pulled on the Force to replenish his strength. '_I understand what Master Nox was talking about now_.' Jon thought, looking around at the ranger's in sight of himself and noticing that none of them were laboring nearly as hard as him. _'We may have the Force at our disposal, but there is much to be said for experience __and endurance_.'

Sticking close to Harwin, Jon kept himself low to the ground as he followed the First Ranger to the crest of the hill. Once at the top, Jon immediately ducked behind a tree. In a small ravine on the opposite side of the hill was a decently sized house, no doubt a fishmonger's family home as it was stationed so close to the large stream that flowed into the White Knife. But it wasn't the larger than average house that'd made the lead ranger call for a halt. But rather the two men Jon could see standing just outside the door talking to one another. Two men who were most decidedly not Northmen. A fact that was confirmed when Jon used the Force to increase his hearing to try and spy on their conversation, only to realize he didn't understand the tongue they were speaking in.

"Well, lad, looks like you were right," Harwin whispered to him as the two of them observed the homestead. "Two men on guard, but last report we had placed their numbers at well over two dozen."

"Could be inside," the other ranger whispered. "That homestead is big enough to fit them all. Be a bit tight, but it'd work."

"Well, this just makes it easier for us then," Harwin nodded. "Spread the word to the others. Split into groups of three. We hit 'em from the north, south, east, and west. Our best archers will stay here with the boy. The signal to move will be when we skewer those two fuckers standing guard. Jon, you stay here. Last thing I need is you getting a big head and getting yourself killed. Gods only know what Lord Stark will do to me if I fail to return with you safe and unharmed."

Jon wanted to tell the man that he was ready to prove himself, both to Lord Stark and the people of the North, but he wasn't given the chance as the First Ranger seemingly disappeared into the grasses and trees around them, taking almost all of the rangers with him shortly afterwards and leaving Jon with the four who were considered to be amongst the best archers in the North. Hells, Jon had even seen a few of the men shoot an arrow in a manner that allowed it to bend around an obstacle in order to hit the targets that lay behind.

Staying low to the ground, Jon watched, more through the Force than with his eyes, as the rangers silently made their way into position around the homestead. The two guards standing at the entrance were still talking and not noticing their death slowly approaching. _'Something isn't right_.' Jon thought as the rangers beside him readied their arrows. _'Shouldn't there be more out on guard? The homestead is __big, to__ be sure… __But__ can it really hold the number of men suspected to be with these bandits?_'

Letting the land around him fade, Jon pulled on the Force and reached out with his senses, trying to isolate the uneasy feeling he was getting. Almost immediately he recognized what was wrong, as he felt a dozen presences approaching the few that'd been left behind from the opposite direction of the homestead. "They're behind us!" Jon shouted, rising to his feet, as he drew his dagger from his hip, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

The four rangers started at his yell, but quickly gathered themselves as war cries came from the trees behind them, followed soon by the dozen bandits Jon had sensed. Holding his dagger in two hands, Jon's mind went blank and he froze in place as he watched as the bandits ran at them with weapons drawn. All thoughts of Master Nox's training, his Lord Father's lessons, and Ser Rodrik's advice left him as he just stood there. Even as a bandit closed in on him, sword raised ready to cut him down, Jon couldn't move a muscle in his body.

Just as the sword was about to come down, the bandit jerked as an arrow appeared in the man's eye. A rough pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him off to the side and to the ground. "Get the fuck out of the fight, boy!"

Rolling onto his side, Jon watched with wide eyes as the four rangers fought against the bandits. It was unlike anything Jon had thought battle would be. It wasn't glorious. It wasn't honorable. It was simply…killing. By the time the bandits had managed to close the distance between themselves and the rangers, four of their numbers had been done in by the arrows of the rangers. But even with how close they were, the rangers kept to their bows, using them as staves to deflect swords and axes aside even as they tried to notch arrows.

He watched as one of the rangers grabbed an arrow by the shaft near the head and used it to stab a bandit in the throat, only to pull the arrow back out, spilling the man's blood all over him and then notch and loose the arrow into another bandit's eye. Only to receive a sword in his back the moment he felled that bandit. Another ranger had dropped his bow and had drawn the short sword, but he was outnumbered and surrounded. He managed to land a single cut before a bandit cut open his thigh, making him stagger before a second cut open his throat.

The ranger who'd thrown Jon had drawn his own short sword and stood protectively in front of Jon as he fended off a man who was screaming in a weird tongue. "Get the fuck out of here, boy!" the ranger yelled as he found an opening and cut the bandit down. "We can't fight while trying to protect you at th-"

His words died as something warm splashed across Jon's face. Bringing a shaking hand to his face, Jon wiped at the warm substance and pulled his hand away. _'Blood_.' Looking from his hand to the ranger that'd been defending him, Jon's heart raced even faster as he saw the ranger fall to his knees before falling to his side. An arrow in his neck and two more in his chest.

Looking up, the world around him almost seemed to come to a crawl as he watched a bandit in the distance notch an arrow on his bow and take aim. He could almost see the arrow waver slightly as it left the bow, heading straight for Jon. And yet, even watching the arrow coming at him, Jon still couldn't get his body to move. _'Move! Move! Move!_' "_Move!_" The last came out as a shout as Jon final gained control enough to roll to the side. But even then, he was too late as the arrow grazed across his brow above his left eye, leaving a searing pain as he rolled away.

Reaching up to his eye, Jon's fingers touched the cut on his brow. _'Blood,_' he thought, pulling his hand away and looking down at it. _'My blood. A __ranger's__ blood. So much…blood_.'

A new set of rough hands grabbed him and turned him around, forcing him to look up at the sight of one of the bandits looming over him. "Fuck," the man cursed, his accent not of the North. "We didn't sign up to kill no kids."

"A job is a job," another said, his accent similar but slightly different. "We get paid. We kill. We don't ask questions. Now finish up before the others reach us."

The man above Jon let out a sigh before raising his blade, point aimed down towards Jon's heart. Thoughts of his siblings ran through his head as he stared at the sword ready to take his life. Of Master Nox, of his Lord Father. _'No! I – __It__ can't end like this! It __can't!'_

"No!" Jon shouted, holding his hands before him and gathering the Force to him before lashing out with it as he'd done countless times under Master Nox's tutelage.

The man standing above him had only a moment to widen his eyes in surprise before he was thrown back away from Jon and into tree behind him. Spinning up to his feet, Jon held his hands out to his sides, waiting for the next bandit to try and get to him. The rest of the men that'd been plaguing the North did little more than stare at Jon as they tried to figure out what'd just happened. But before anyone could move, shouts of 'Winterfell' came from the hill behind Jon.

He almost sagged in relief as he felt the rangers of the North falling on the bandits. But his relief his was short lived as one of the men regained his wits and charged at Jon with his sword raised. Acting on instinct alone, Jon flung his hands towards the advancing man, lashing out with the Force. Just like with the previous man, this one barely had time to figure out what was happening before he was flung back and into another tree with enough force to break the trunk in half as the man impacted it.

Turning on his heel, Jon readied himself to fight some more, only to find that there were no enemies to be had. With the rest of the rangers coming to their aid, the remaining bandits had either surrendered, died, or run off. Jon wasn't sure which. But what he did know was that it was over.

And with that realization, Jon's blood began to cool as he looked down at his bloodied hands. "Well, I'll be damned, Jon," Harwin muttered, coming up and patting Jon on the back with enough force to make him stumble forward a step. "I guess that the sorcerer _has_ been teaching more than just a few 'tricks' eh? Fell a man twice or three times your size at barely eleven name-days. You truly are a son of the North, lad."

Blinking, Jon looked from his hands to the two bandits he'd thrown away from himself. The one that didn't go through the tree was resting at the base of the trunk. His body bent backwards at an unnatural angle. And the second, the one who had gone through the tree had splinters the size of Jon's fingers sticking out of his chest, legs, and arms.

He barely had time to cough before he felt his stomach betrayed him and he lost his fast and meal from the night before. And then the ground was rushing up to meet him as darkness clouded his sight.

* * *

Walking into the Small Council Chambers, Jon Arryn, Hand of the King let out a frustrated sigh at the sight before him. Of the seven men that made up the Small Council, only two currently were currently in attendance. Lord Stannis sat with his back straight, reading over a piece of parchment with a chalice sitting next to him. No doubt a water at the strongest. And the other occupant was Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers. The eunuch was standing next to the open window, staring out over the Blackwater Bay. But besides them, the rest of the of the Small Council was absent.

'_Pycelle is no doubt shuffling about, trying to act his age and believing that he has everyone __fooled_,' Jon thought as he spared a quick nod towards Stannis before making his way around the table to too his seat. '_Baelish no doubt is finding a way to make more coin appear out of nothing to appease the King's appetites. And Renly, Seven only know where that boy is. I warned Robert that his younger brother was not yet ready to take on the mantle of Master of Law. But Robert is not one to change his mind once it is set. One need only look at his ongoing opinion of the __Targaryens__ to know that for a fact. And Barristan is no doubt still with the King_.'

"Lord Hand," Varys greeted him cordially as the eunuch turned away from the window and made his way towards his seat.

"Lord Varys," Jon greeted the man back.

Of all the members of the Small Council, Varys was the one that caused the most concern for Jon. Stannis was predictable. Renly was easy to manipulate. Pycelle was easy to anticipate once you saw through his façade. And Baelish cared only for his own self-interests in expanding his coin and influence. But Varys…? Varys was an enigma. The man had not only managed to survive his tenure as a member of the Mad King's Small Council, but he'd managed to seamlessly engrain himself into Robert's Small Council as well. And while he could anticipate and predict the other members of the Council based on their wants and needs, Varys was a complete mystery. He truly seemed to mean what he said when Jon had first talked to the man. '_I serve the realm, Lord Hand. Someone has too_.' But the day he truly believed that would be the same day that he ate his own shoe.

If Jon had had his way, Varys would have been excused from the Council the moment Robert had been crowned. But the problem was that they needed him. They needed his spy network. He'd been trying for years, ever since his appointment as Hand, to try and subtly find another that could potentially take over Varys's position, but for over ten years he failed with every attempt. So now, he had no choice but to accept the eunuch out of necessity.

Within moments of Varys taking his seat, the doors to the Small Council chambers opened once more as Baelish and Renly came walking in, the two determinedly not looking at one another with a slowly lumbering Pycelle directly behind them.

"Forgive the tardiness…Lord Hand," Pycelle muttered as he stumbled to his seat, his act growing rather thin on Jon but not enough for him to call him out on it.

"I ask forgiveness as well, Lord Hand," Baelish smiled, bowing slightly as he took his seat and pulling out his ledger. "But there were a few discrepancies that I felt the need to deal with before we begin today. And I believe that now that we are all—"

"We are not all here," Jon cut in quickly. "We will wait for Robert before beginning."

Looks of doubt crossed the face of each member of the Small Council, even Stannis looked curious. And why wouldn't they? It was well known that Robert despised these meetings. _'Counting __coppers,'_ he always called them. But Jon knew his former ward and now King. He knew exactly what to say to make the boy do what he wanted him to do. And, sure enough, he only had to wait a few moments longer before the doors to the Small Council chambers were thrown open again.

"Your grace," rising to his feet with the rest of the council, Jon inclined his head as King Robert, cup of wine in hand, entered the council chambers with Ser Selmy and the King's squire Lancel right behind him.

"Ah, save that shit, Jon, and sit your ass down. All of you." Robert grumbled as he made his way to his seat and flopping down in it while holding out his cup for Lancel to refill. "So, I'm here. You said there was news from the North. What is it?"

Jon could see Stannis's jaw tighten as recognition flashed in his eyes on just how Jon had managed to get the king to attend the meeting. "In time," Jon stated, taking his seat as did the rest of the council. "First, though, we have several issues we should discuss that concern the realm. Varys let us start with you. What news from the realm?"

Jon could see Robert visibly deflate. He cared and loved the man as if he were his own son, to be sure. But after years of dealing with the errant man, Jon found he'd simply given up on caring about Robert's whims. Varys, taking the opening, began to speak. "Songs have reached my ears that Oberyn Martell has been making his way through the Free Cities of Essos with his paramour Ellaria Sand."

"No doubt looking to sire a few more bastards on a few Essos women," Renly quipped, chuckling slightly at his own joke.

Jon, however, did not find it amusing. While the younger Martell brother was known to be a wanderer, his current whereabouts were of concern. "Has he made contact with the exiled Targaryens?"

Robert sat up straight instantly, his eyes gaining that same fire as what always entered them whenever the dragons were brought into the conversation. Mercifully, Varys shook his head. If there was one point of contention between Jon and Robert, it was in the fates of the remaining Targaryen children. The idea of killing them both still made Jon uneasy. Although he did admit that it would solve many problems, it would also create many others. No. The best bet would be to capture the two of them and bring them back to Westeros. Viserys, of course, would have to be sent to the Wall. But at least there, once he'd sworn his oaths, he would be unable to legally try and claim the crown. But the girl, Daenerys, she had potential. If she were set to marry the crown Prince Joffrey, then Robert's reign and the Baratheons' continued hold on the throne would be without question. But Robert didn't agree. He only wanted the two dead.

"No, he has not," Varys said with a sigh. "I fear that after the death of Ser Willem Darry that two remaining Targaryens have disappeared. The two are quite adept at hiding from my little birds."

"I want them both found, Varys!" Robert all but shouted, rising from his seat slightly. "I want them found and dead!"

"My little birds are trying their best, your grace," Varys nodded. "But I believe that they are playing on the few families that are still loyal to the Targaryens in Essos or making promises to others in exchange for protection."

"The Targaryens and their fate can be discussed at a later date," Jon cut in, ending the discussion with a pointed look at Robert. "If Oberyn Martell has not traveled to Essos to seek out the Targaryen exiles, then have your little birds managed to learn why he is there?"

"I have, Lord Hand. Prince Oberyn has not been discreet during his travels," Varys nodded. "Apparently, he is asking anyone and everyone for information about a certain man. A blind man with Valyrian features."

It didn't take the wisest man in the realm to understand what Varys was alluding too. "The Northern Sorcerer," Stannis stated. "Why would Dorne be interested in the man? He is sworn to House Stark."

"But he has said no oaths, neither to House Stark nor to the crown." Pycelle cut in, suddenly energetic as his façade slipped, as it always did when the topic of the sorcerer was brought up. "If Dorne is interested in the man, then perhaps he truly is a Targaryen loyalist who is merely preparing the land for his master's return."

Jon could see that same fire return to Roberts eye, and he knew that he needed to cut off that line of thought. He had no idea just why Pycelle seemed to despise the man so much, but the Grand Maester would take every opportunity presented to paint the sorcerer in a poor light. But he was saved from having to say anything this time as Stannis spoke up.

"That is unlikely," Stannis stated, fixing the Grand Maester with a glare that shut the old man up. "Since his arrival in Westeros, the sorcerer has only proven to be a benefit. He almost singlehandedly brought down the Greyjoys and brought peace back to the realm. And with his work in the North in the creation of glass, the printing press, his gifts of new foods to the North as well as his countless other contributions that have brought more wealth and stability to the realm than we have seen in years. If he _truly_ is trying to upset the balance of the land to make it easier for a Targaryen resurgence, then he is doing a poor job of it. In fact, I would dare say that the sorcerer has been responsible for more technological and societal advancements in the past few years than the Maesters of the Citadel have in the past few _centuries_."

Stannis wasn't lying. The advancements coming from the North, of all places, far outpaced any advancements that the Maesters had ever achieved in well over a century. The printing press that was in Winterfell was able to turn out books as fast as they were able to supply them with paper. And while the effects were still relatively minor, it didn't take an archmaester to know what was to come. Literacy in Westeros was common only amongst the nobility, and even then, competent literacy was usually reserved only to those amongst the noble families. And that was primarily because of the scarcity of books due to the time and effort it took to make them. But now, with a single machine, that argument was now null and void. Literature could be made efficiently and cheaply. Soon, many of the smallfolk all over Westeros would be reading, which in turn would likely force their lords to step up their own lessons in retaliation.

The blast furnace was also a technological marvel. A giant bloomery capable of smelting tons of iron ore at once into high-grade steel far better than anything they had before. And, again, it could be done at a rate almost unheard of. It wouldn't surprise Jon that if in a few years, the North managed to surpass the Westerlands as the most well equipped and armed martial force.

Then there was the glass, whose strength somehow managed to surpass anything they could currently purchase from Myr. And while to many in the southern kingdoms it meant little, to the North it was a matter of life and death. Now that they could produce glass of their own, they could create glass gardens that could feed most of the North even in the middle of winter. However, that also created a new problem as many of the southern houses depended on the North to buy their crops, even if it chaffed them to admit that they depended on the North for anything.

Then there were the dozens of other little items the North had been creating over the past five years. When they weren't producing glass for the glass gardens, the glassmakers were making wine glasses or decorative pieces of art that were becoming very popular amongst the nobility of Westeros and even amongst the rich of the Free Cities, if Varys's little birds were to be believed. Then there were also the springs that were used to not only create new mattresses, which were far more comfortable and durable than feathered mattresses but were also being used in larger sizes to stabilize carriages while they traveled. Truly, the North was quickly becoming the height of technological advancement in Westeros, which was a fact that many, including Jon, would have thought impossible just a few short years past.

"Aye, the bloody fucking sorcerer has proven his worth," Robert grumbled, waving his hand dismissively at Pycelle's concerns. "And if he does show any allegiance to the fucking dragons, then I'll trust Ned to deal with him. Enough of the snakes, what the fuck is next?"

"Songs from the Reach, your grace," Varys informed the council. "Lord Tarly has sent his eldest son North to gain the approval of the sorcerer. From the time my birds sung of his departure, he should have arrived at Winterfell by now. And Garlan Tyrell has taken the Lord Tarly's second son as his squire."

"Tarly's boy?" Renly questioned. "I remember the boy, vaguely. A chubby boy that couldn't even hold a training sword in his hands without shaking."

"No doubt Lord Tarly hopes that the sorcerer will be able to turn the boy into something resembling a reasonable heir," Baelish sighed dramatically. "I do hope Lord Tarly doesn't take offense to the sorcerer shipping his son back south like he has with dozens of others."

Baelish spoke the truth of the matter. Ever since the Citadel had declared the end to the three-year winter Westeros had just endured, dozens of Lords from across the realm from Bear Island to Storm's End and across to Highgarden had sent their heirs to the North to try and garner the approval of the sorcerer. And each one had been turned around and sent back home by the sorcerer. Some managed to last longer than others, but in the end, it always ended the same. With the sorcerer informing the heir that they could not be taught the ways of magic, and the heir dejectedly leaving the North.

"Perhaps the boy will surprise us then and be the first not to be turned away," Jon commented, ready to leave the subject be. "Are there any other whispers, Varys? No, good. Lord Stannis, you spoke last time of an increase in pirate activity around the Stepstones, have you any—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Jon!" Robert groaned, knocking back his wine cup in one go before holding it out to be refilled. "Enough with this counting coppers and whispers horseshit. You brought me here because you said you had word from Ned. So, what is it?"

'_Barely more than a scant few __updates,_' Jon sighed while just barely managing to suppress his outward groan of annoyance. Sometimes, he truly wished that Ned had claimed the Iron Throne for himself that day when he walked into the Red Keep only to find the Mad King dead at the hands of the Kingslayer. It would've taken a lot of concessions to get the rest of the realm to agree to a reign headed by the wolves, but at least Ned would've been an attentive King.

"Yes, we have," Jon nodded. "Lord Stark reports that the bandit raids that've been plaguing the trade lines near Winterfell for the past few months have finally be—"

"Bandits? Near Winterfell?" Robert asked, sitting up straight and his eyes suddenly much clearer than they were a moment before. "Why wasn't I informed of this sooner?"

"It was discussed months ago, when Lord Stark sent word to the council informing us of the raids. And was later confirmed by Lord Varys," Stannis informed his brother calmly, although Jon could see the rage lingering behind the man's eyes as he addressed his brother and King. "Lord Stark informed us at the time that he had the situation under control. And that he and the Northern Sorcerer were working on a solution to the problem."

Robert looked confused, but before he could question further Jon pressed on. "In response to the raids, Lord Stark commissioned the creation of a new group of 'rangers', much like the Night's Watch have that patrol north of the Wall. Only this group would patrol the Northern lands. They were specially trained by the sorcerer and by Winterfell's Master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik. In Lord Stark's latest correspondence, he confirms that the newly formed rangers managed to track down and kill the bandits that were plaguing their trade lines."

"With the aid of Lord Stark's baseborn son, these new rangers managed to track the bandits back to their hiding place and they wiped them all out. Save for two who they brought back to Winterfell for questioning." Jon continued. "While being questioned by the sorcerer, it came to light that these bandits were no mere Westerosi men looking to make a quick amount coin. No. These were in fact Essosi sellswords, sent to the North specifically to disrupt the trade shipments of Northern glass. And while they did not reveal who hired them, as their hiring was done through a proxy and therefore unknown to the two men questioned, it is obvious who stands to gain the most from the disruption to the new Northern export."

"Myr," Baelish supplied seamlessly. "Curious. I was not aware that the Northern glass trade had had such an impact as to attract the attention of the only other glass distributor. Perhaps I need to recheck the Northern records to make sure they are paying the crown its true due."

"Careful, Baelish," Robert growled. "You're coming dangerously close to talking ill of my Warden of the North and one of, if not _the_, most honorable men in the realm."

"Of course, your grace," Baelish smiled politely. "I am sure that a man of Lord Stark's caliber would never forgo the crown its due."

Robert spared one last glare towards Baelish before coming back to Jon. "Alright, so Ned had some problems with bandits, who turned out not to be bandits but sellswords from Myr. Varys, why haven't your little birds sung that fucking song to you?"

Varys didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the King's ire. And why would he? This was one of the only men who managed to survive his tenure in the Mad King's Small Council. "My little birds in Essos are spread thin, your grace. Songs take time to travel. And I have but a few birds in Myr, and none in such a spot to overhear such plans as the ones that were used against the North."

"Get someone in position then," Robert growled. "What's to be our response to this then? Myr dares to attack Westeros. We cannot let such a thing go."

This time, Jon couldn't help but groan. If there was one thing that Robert longed for, it was war. A good fight. The Greyjoy Rebellion had done a fine job of tempering the King's hot blood. But that was years past now, and Robert was once again itching for another fight. If it was a simple uprising in Westeros, perhaps Jon would've entertained the idea, if only to calm Robert's blood once more. But this attack wasn't originating from Westeros. It was from Essos. And even then, they couldn't prove it fully. And if they were to launch and attack against one of the Free Cities, then the Iron Bank could suddenly start taking an interest in recollecting their due. Which was not something the crown could necessarily shoulder at the moment.

"There is nothing we _can_ do," Stannis supplied, no doubt his thoughts on the matter akin to Jon's. "Perhaps if we had more evidence to prove their involvement, we could demand reconciliation through the Iron Back. But as it stands now, we have no cause to go to war with Myr. And if we launched a seemingly random attack against one of the Free Cities, the other nations of Essos would turn their attention to us. And that would be even if we managed to convince the Lords of the Realm to set sail in the first place, your grace."

Leaning back, Robert scratched at his beard. "Ah, fine. But, Varys, get some of your fucking birds in some fucking corner in Myr so they can actually hear something interesting."

"Of course, your grace," Varys nodded. "But I believe that the end of the bandit raids was not all that Lord Stark had to say."

Jon nearly cursed the eunuch. Jon had wanted to approach the matter delicately, but now that option was taken from him. "Indeed," Jon nodded, shooting the eunuch a withering glare. "During the skirmish with the sellswords, young Jon Snow used magic to kill two of the sellswords in front of the other rangers by blowing the men away and breaking their bodies against several nearby trees."

The implication of his words took a moment to sink in, and when they did the reaction around the table was about what Jon had expected. Stannis and Robert were not surprised by the fact that the boy had magic. Nor was Varys. Pycelle seemed on the verge of having a fit and Renly looked completely blindsided. And Lord Commander Selmy seemed curious. All which Jon expected. But what he hadn't expected was Baelish's seeming indifference to the news. Almost as if he already knew.

"Ah, we knew it would only be a matter of time before this news came to light." Robert shrugged, not caring or not realizing the full implications of what was at stake.

"_Your grace!_" Pycelle gasped, turning to the King. "You…Is it that you…a-already knew of the bastard boy's usage of this accursed magic?"

"Aye, I fucking knew," Robert shrugged before waving to Jon and Stannis. "As did Jon and Stannis here. And it isn't just Ned's bastard that has magic. His trueborn son, Robb, can use that fucking magic well. The sorcerer has been training both the boys since the end of the Greyjoy spat. Glad to see that the fucking sorcerer is keeping to his word."

"Be that as it may, we will have to prepare for the backlash from word of this development reaching the masses," Jon stated. "A foreign man who can use magic was…acceptable. If reluctantly to the people and most especially to the Faith. But now word will reach of an heir to a Great House being able to use the same abilities, it will cause a stir."

"Eh, let the fat Septon bitch and moan all he wants. The Starks are descendants from the First Men and do not follow the Faith of the Seven," Robert shot back, waving off Jon's concerns. "So, Ned's bastard was managed to kill a couple of sellswords, eh? Not bad for a boy of…what is he now? Twelve name-days? Good age for a boy to start bloodying themselves. If only my own fucking son showed such initiative… What else did Ned have to say?"

The next bit was a subject that Jon didn't really want to broach with Robert, but he knew that he had too. If he held this back and word got back to Robert, it wouldn't be pleasant. "Lord Stark has made an official request that, in light of his actions, his bastard son be legitimized as a true son of House Stark."

Again, the reactions were predictable. Pycelle was furious. Stannis contemplative. Renly unsure. And Selmy stoic as ever. But again, Baelish proved to be the odd man out as he didn't show any reaction at all. '_Does he have eyes and ears in Winterfell? He seems to know a lot more about what is happening in the North than he's letting on. __…Wait__. Lysa has mentioned receiving letters from her sister in the North for some __time but… I__ just assumed that they were harmless. And the three did grow up together…and then there are the rumors that Baelish claims to have claimed both Tully sister maidenhoods. Hmm. Could Lysa be informing Baelish of news from the North? Or worse, could Catelyn be sending the missives directly to __Baelish?__ Either way, I need to keep a better eye on the man in the future_.'

"Eh, why not?" Robert shrugged. "Pycelle, write up the decree and I'll sign it and sen—"

"One moment, your grace," Jon interrupted quickly. "Perhaps we should not be so quick to grant this request. Raising and legitimizing a bastard is not something that can or should be done on a whim. We don't want to set the precedence that all a bastard needs to do is kill a few bandits in order to be legitimized. The problems it would cause with the line of succession within many noble families would be chaotic at least. Bloody, at worst."

In truth, Jon wasn't exactly against the idea of legitimizing Ned's baseborn son. If anything, it could reaffirm the boy's allegiance to the Baratheon monarchy. But if the boy were to be legitimized, then Lord Stark would be forced to do one of two things in order to keep the line of succession in Winterfell clear. Either he would have to give the boy a keep of his own, which would then result in the Lords of the realm throwing their daughters at him to try and gain the favor of the Starks to breed magic into their House's line. Or he would have to send the boy to the Night's Watch to ensure he didn't pose a threat to his siblings. Neither of which coincided with the part Jon needed the boy to play in stabilizing the realm.

'_It seems I have run out of __time,_' Jon thought sorely. '_I'll have to start spreading the rumors of the boy's parentage through the realm and Dorne especially. I need word to reach the __Martells__, and Arianne especially, about the boy's capabilities and parentage_.'

"The Lord Hand speaks true," Renly, surprisingly, spoke up. "The laws regarding legitimization are…muddy, at best. But, still, we can't make it easy for bastards to try and claim legitimization."

Robert didn't seem pleased. But, thank the Seven, he didn't seem to have any allies regarding legitimizing the boy on the Small Council. "Eh, fuck. Fine." Robert grumbled. "The boy won't be legitimized, yet. But I swear, the moment the boy does anything even remotely noteworthy or if Ned asks again, I'll send the fucking papers on the first raven myself."

"Very well, your grace." Not ideal, but Jon could work with the situation. At least he still had time to put certain pieces into play. "There is one last request from the Warden of the North. Due to his exemplarily service, not only to the North but to the realm as a whole, Lord Stark requests that the Northern Sorcerer be given a title amongst the nobility and be recognized as the Realm's 'Master of the Arcane'."

"_Preposterous!_" the Grand Maester all but shouted, nearly rising from his chair before catching himself and stumbling back down into his seat. "Your grace, you _cannot_ allow this! To—To give the man such a t-title would be to ap-appoint him to the Small Council! Lord Stark might t-trust him. But he is _Valyrian_, your grace! C-Can we really trust one with s-such ancestry to t-the council given what h-happened with the T-Targaryens?"

"I must agree with the Grand Maester, your grace," Baelish chimed in. "The man has done some good, to be sure. But his loyalty is still uncertain, as is his past and even his homeland, if the stories are to be believed. And that is not to mention what the Faith would do upon his appointment to such a position."

Jon could understand their concerns. The sorcerer, despite having earned Ned's trust, was still an unknown. His past a mystery to all, even to Ned. The only thing that was known about the man was that he hailed from a region of land that was under an Imperium, that he was once a slave, and that he had the look of a Valyrian. Wild rumors stated that he was a remnant from Valyria itself, a man frozen in time by the ancient magics of the Valyrian Empire. And while the tale was outlandish, Jon couldn't banish the thought outright. Too many aspects of the man's tale could be related back to the Valyrian Empire. '_But that would make him over three hundred years __old,__ at least_.' Jon thought dismissively, trying desperately to fight back against the thoughts and doubts in his mind. '_To reach such __an__ age __should__ be impossible. Yet, old tales spoke of the Children of the Forest living for centuries or more. So, perhaps…__no,__ I will not think more on the matter_.'

"Despite his unknown past, there is no doubt that the sorcerer has done much for the realm. Lesser men have been rewarded greatly for doing far less," Jon countered, drawing attention to himself. "Granting him the title of 'Master of the Arcane' might be premature, given his loyalty to the throne is still questionable. But he deserves a reward, nonetheless. So, Lordship. And the ability to claim land should he be offered it by a Great House or the Crown."

"A lord without any land of his own," Renly smiled easily, leaning back in his seat. "He'll probably see it as an insult."

"No, he won't," Stannis countered his brother sharply. "You were not at Pyke, Renly. You did not see, did not speak with the Sorcerer. The boon of Lordship, he will appreciate. But should we force him to take a lordship of a plot of land that is not too his liking, _then_ he will not accept. And that will cause greater problems as, while his loyalty may be in question, we do not want to aggravate him and drive him to our enemies. And to be sure, brother, we still have enemies."

"Enough," Robert commanded. "Lordship with the promise of land of his choosing in the future should his loyalty to the crown prove true. Jon, write it up and bring it to me to sign. And that is the end of it. Any more from Ned?"

"No," Jon replied, shaking his head in resignation as he knew what was about to happen.

"Good," Robert nodded, rising from his seat, prompting the council to follow suit. "Then I've had enough counting coppers for today. Baelish, I want that dark-haired whore in my room by sundown. You know the one I like."

Baelish merely smiled and inclined his head. "Of course, your grace. She will be ready and waiting for you."

With his piece said, Robert turned on his heel and marched out of the council chambers, leaving the Commander of the Kingsguard to hurry and catch up. '_Less than half an __hour,_' Jon bemoaned silently as he took his set once more, rubbing at his forehead in a futile attempt to stop the headache that was now ravaging his mind. '_Gods,__ Ned, why couldn't you have just forsaken your honor for a second time and claimed the damn throne for yourself?_'

"Lord Stannis," he said out loud. "You wished to speak on the pirates around the Stepstones. What news do you have?"

* * *

Standing on the newly constructed covered bridge that connected the great keep of Winterfell to the First Keep, Lord Eddard Stark stood still as he watched the activity occurring in the courtyard below him. It was strange to think just how much life in the North had changed in the past five years, but there was no doubting that it had indeed changed. Despite winter having been officially declared over by the Maesters, despite the spring snows that still lingered within the North, Winterfell had not emptied of people as it had in the past. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people now resided within the walls of the ancient keep that Ned's ancestor erected over eight thousand years ago.

Men trained daily in the training yards or plied their trade in the smithies or within the 'manufacturing areas', as Nox called them, within the First Keep. And it wasn't just the men either. Women too worked in both the smithies and within the First Keep. And a few more stubborn women had even begun picking up weapons and joining the men in the yard to train. A sight that made Ned more than slightly uneasy. While the North was more open to the idea of women fighting, primarily in the northernmost Houses like Umber and Mormont, it was still a concept that Ned wasn't keen on. Not because he believed that women to be any less than men, but because simply he didn't want the women on the battlefield. He'd seen what happened to men when their blood ran hot and got the better of them. And he would not give them such easy targets to state their battle induced lust.

Moving from away from the railing, he made his way towards the First Keep, keeping an eye on the training grounds below as he walked. He felt no small amount of pride as he watched the men of the North train under the watchful eyes of Ser Jory and his appointed First Ranger Harwin. The men, and few women, were disciplined and skilled. Far more than any levy he'd seen before. He had no doubt that if he were forced to call the banners once more, something he prayed would not happen, that the Northern levies of House Stark would be the finest warriors on the field.

_'Through no action of my own __however,_' he thought, pausing to watch the people of the North train. _'If not for Nox, the North would not be in the shape it is today. Despite the praises the people of the North __sing__ of me and House Stark for leading them into this 'new age'_.'

Continuing on his way, Ned made it only a few dozen more steps before stopping once more. Sitting at the base of the Sorcerer's Tower, as the once Broken Tower was now named, was a training area specially designed by Nox to assist in the training of those Nox deemed worthy of his personal attention. Or in other words, those who had the same affinity for magic as he. And on one of those training devices, a series of posts that stood taller than a man with an arch standing overhead that held a spiked log that swung freely back and forth over the posts, was none other than his little wolf, Arya. As he watched, his little wolf moved skillfully back and forth across the tops of the flattened posts as she avoided the swinging log with apparent ease. A feat which was not easy, and he could attest to this fact as he himself had been knocked flat on his arse the first time he tried.

He didn't regret giving his daughter permission to train like her brothers were. He had never seen his daughter so full of life as he had since giving in and allowing her to train to fight, despite the objections of her mother. But even still, watching her train caused a constant war to rage within Ned. She was so much like his sister, the same fire, the same free spirit. The same drive to prove that she was more than just a 'lady'. But in the end, it was that mentality that led his sister to do what she did and led her to her fate. A fate that he did not want his little wolf to suffer.

Shaking his head, Ned forced himself to look away from his daughter and made his way into the First Keep of Winterfell. Despite being the oldest building within the walls of the ancient Stark castle, the First Keep was almost completely unrecognizable from when Ned was a boy, or even from a few years prior. While the exterior of the keep was still the same, the inside was drastically different. No longer was it an abandoned keep that was used only to house citizens of the North during the winter years. No, now it was bustling keep that was almost as crowded as the great keep of Winterfell. Dozens of people wandered the halls, making their way from the rooms that had been set aside for them and their place of work within the Keep. It still amazed Ned just how quickly seemingly frivolous items could be made once Nox had introduced Ned and Maester Luwin to a way of working he called an 'assembly line'. It took more people to be sure. But they could produce items far faster than ever before. Plates, bowls, eating utensils, decorative glass pieces, decorative metal pieces, leather works. All were being produced now in the First Keep.

And while he was more than slightly unsure about the venture, especially once Nox laid out the startup costs, Ned's worries had been quickly dashed the moment the first trade vessels returned from the south and from Bravos. The single trade venture had garnered the North more coin in the few months of travel that it usually gained during an entire year. Many of the Northern Lords had shared his concern with the seemingly excessive expenditure of coin, but just like he, once they saw the coin that was suddenly flowing into their coffers, almost all of the complaints dried up. In fact, many of the lords, Lord Manderly in particular, had sent their castellans, stewards or even their heirs to Winterfell to learn how to recreate this new process of creation that Nox had implemented.

Nodding in greeting to the few north men and women that bowed respectfully to him as he passed, Ned made his way through the First Keep and across the bridge that connected the Keep to the Sorcerer's Tower. Making his way up the winding stairway past the first few levels, Ned nearly ran headlong into an individual who suddenly appeared out of one of the rooms nearly halfway up the tower. "Lord Stark! Um, forgive me, milord. I was not looking where I was going."

He recognized the young woman immediately, not a very difficult task considering her name was on the tongues of just about every Lord and Lady in the North, and not necessarily for the best of reasons. "There is no need for apologies, Nyra. My mind is wandering as well right now."

The young northern woman had her hair pulled back into a simple braid as was custom with almost all the women of the north. And for a moment, Ned had to catch himself as he took a good look at her. She reminded him far too much of his sister. And not just with her looks. But with her strength. Her time with Nox had awoken a fire within her. A fire that, to his shame, Ned had not seen before. If he were being completely honest with himself, after watching her help Nox with his ventures, he was almost positive that this young woman could run Winterfell just as well as his own Steward…or even his Lady wife for that matter.

But despite the fire and strength that'd been awoken within her, the girl still remembered her courtesies. "Of course, milord. Is—Is there something I can aid you with today?"

"Yes," Ned nodded. "Would you happen to know where Nox is at the moment? I need to have words with him."

"Of course, milord," Nyra nodded as she stepped aside and pointed up the stairway. "He is with young Lord Tarly in his…la – laboritary…laboratory, milord."

"Thank you," Ned thanked the young woman before making his way past her and up the stairs another level.

Arriving at the door leading to the strange workshop Nox had set up, Ned reached up for the latch. "The door is open, Lord Stark," Nox's voice sounded through the door. "But I ask that you stay within the entry way for a moment."

Lifting the latch, Ned made sure to stay just beyond the entrance way as Nox had requested. While Nox was known to have a rather queer sense of design, at least according to many that knew him, this workshop, or rather laboratory, was without a doubt the strangest. Nox had used his own coin that he'd earned to commission the creation of dozens of different types of glassware from the glass smiths and blowers. Rounded glasses, cups, plates and dozens of other designs Ned had no head for recognizing were all scattered throughout the room. Along with dozens of clay jars that were filled with many types of different plants and substances that Nox had spent nearly the entire winter years and the spring months collecting, both from the North and from trade with Bravos and the south. But perhaps one of the oddest things Ned noticed during his brief look about the workshop was a single tabletop that had several different types of food that was laid out. Food that was well past being edible going by the rotting and mold growth that was present. And strangely enough, some of the molding food was in one of the clear glass containers, soaking in water with a candle underneath to heat it. _'Nox is almost impeccably clean… __So,__ why would he keep rotting food so close by?_'

Standing at the far back of the workshop with his back turned towards the door was Nox, although he wasn't alone. The two 'students', as he called them, that had been recommend by Lady Bethany to undergo further tutelage were standing beside him helping him with whatever task he had at hand. Ned also knew that if not for his duties tending to the ravens or teaching his sons their lessons, Maester Luwin would be right there beside the two youngsters. The old maester honestly spent almost as much time with Nox as he did with Ned. And standing just off to the side, his eyes wide as he eagerly took notes one a piece of parchment was Lord Tarly's son and heir, Samwell Tarly.

If Ned were being entirely truthful, the young lad was the exact opposite of what he'd been expecting when word reached them from Horn Hill that Lord Tarly was sending his son north to try and gain the approval of the Northern Sorcerer. The boy was nearly half as wide as he was tall. And the first time he stepped foot into the yard with Jon, Robb and Theon, the boy had barely managed to parry a single strike from Jon before he dropped his sword and curled into a ball on the ground. There was no getting around the facts the moment that scene was made. The boy was a fat craven, the exact opposite words that anyone would think to use when describing a son of House Tarly.

Ned had fully expected for Nox to dismiss the boy before he could even have his first evening meal in Winterfell. But to Ned and no doubt just about everyone other denizen of Winterfell's collective shock, he had not done that. In fact, he had encouraged the boy to continue learning under both himself and Lady Bethany in the Winterfell college while he worked on his skill at arms. Ned had been, to say the least, dumbfounded. Nox had turned away dozens of fit and skilled heirs and spares over the course of the past year. And yet, the first acolyte he took outside of Ned's own children was perhaps the mostly unlikely choice in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms.

After Samwell had accepted Nox's invitation, nearly shaking with glee as he did so, Ned had approached Nox privately and asked if the boy had the same Force sensitivity as his children and could use magic as well. Again, to his utmost surprise, Nox merely laughed. The sorcerer had then proceeded to tell Ned that Samwell had about the same Force sensitivity as a pile of horse shit. But he then followed it up by saying that, just like horse shit, just because you can't use it in one way doesn't mean that it isn't useful. According to Nox, Samwell had a keen mind, a _very_ keen mind, especially for a boy his age. And while he would more than likely never become the Warrior reborn, as Lord Tarly wanted his son to become, Nox was confident that given enough time he could mold the young boy into something just as useful.

"-need to let this boil for at least two hours now." Nox declared, bringing Ned back around as the sorcerer used his powers to flip an hourglass over that was clear across the room. "Lucca, Rin. Once the time is up, remove the flask from the heat and let it cool. And then add the ingredients in the order and quantity that we discussed. Samwell, keep with them and make sure to keep track of everything, especially any color changes that occur during the addition phase after boiling. Other than that, do not touch anything until I return from talking with Lord Stark."

"Yes, Master Nox," the three youngsters nodded as Nox stepped away from them and over to Ned.

For his part, Ned hardly waited for Nox before turning on his heel and making his way further up the tower towards Nox's personal quarters and solar. Marching into the room, Ned barely waited for the door to shut behind the two men before starting. "I received a raven from King's Landing this morning," he began, marching away from Nox so that he could stand before the open window that peered out over the courtyard of Winterfell.

"I suspected as much. Given your aura, I take it that news was not all that you hoped it would be?" Nox questioned.

"No," Ned replied, shaking his head. "No, it was not. Robert has denied my request for Jon's legitimization."

Nox didn't necessarily seemed surprised by the announcement. "Unfortunately, it doesn't necessarily surprise me. The South, and even most of the North, place a heavy stigma on those given bastard names. It's a shame really. And it comes back to the nature versus nurture as to how they turn out."

That wasn't a concept that Ned was familiar with. "Nature versus nurture?"

"Yes," Nox continue as he stepped up beside Ned, a glass of dark brown liquid in his hands. "It's a philosophical argument that contemplates what determines the being of a person. Are we like we are from birth? Or does our upbringing truly define what we are?"

Taking the offered glass, a newly constructed form of cup that was roughly the size of a man's fist that Nox called a 'tumbler', Ned idly swirled the brown contents within. _'Whiskey,_' he thought, taking a small sip and letting the liquid warm his throat and stomach. _'Another gift from Nox. Far more potent __than__ even our most fortified wines and ales. Yet simple to make. Barley, sap, water, yeast and some patience. And you have a drink that, even within only a single shipment having left the __North__, is in such a high demand amongst the nobility that I doubt we will ever be able to fulfill all the requests sent to us for the drink. Robert in particular seems to have taken a shine to it. Which I am not sure is such a good __thing,__ given the potency and the man's love for drink_.'

"There was more," Ned continued, this time turning to face Nox. "The King has authorized your ascension into the nobility and has given you the title of 'Lord'. Despite this, however, no lands have been conferred unto you."

Nox knocked back the drink in one go with hardly seeing to even notice its strong bite. "Lord, huh? Well, it's been sometime since I've held such a title. I've gotten quite used to just being 'Master Nox' or plain old Nox. The title of Lord once more, that will take some getting used to."

"Aye," Ned nodded. "Despite the fact that the king has not bestowed any lands upon you, I'm sure I can find you a suitable keep should you wish it."

In truth, Ned didn't necessarily want to see the sorcerer out of his sight. While he was in Winterfell, Ned could keep an eye on both him and how he went about training his children. Not only that but should Nox ever turn against the realm, Ned would be able to hopefully stop him before he could cause too much damage. But those were just the logical arguments. In truth, Ned had come to consider the foreign sorcerer his friend and perhaps even his closest advisor. But still, now that Nox was considered a Lord of the Realm and considering everything that he'd done for the realm and the North in particular, it would've been rude of him not to at least offer the man a keep of his own.

Nox appeared contemplative as the man scratched at the slight growth on his chin and jaw. Unlike other men of the North, the sorcerer seemed to prefer to keep his beard close cut instead of letting it grow. A trend that had actually started to spread slightly as many of the men throughout Winterfell began to imitate the sorcerer, especially once word began to spread of how the woman of the land apparently found the look refined and attractive.

"The offer is appreciated, Lord Stark. But I am quite comfortable here in Winterfell for now. Unless, of course, you would rather see me gone from your halls."

"Not at all, my friend," Ned replied, letting out a sigh of relief. "Your presence and advice has been a boon to myself, my children, and the North, and I would see you stay as long as you so choose to do so."

"Then I'll stay, my friend," Nox smiled back to him. "Although, I suppose with my new status, I can be expecting quite a few ravens from various lords across the land trying to throw their daughters at me in hopes of tempting me away from the North. Not that any of them could hope to tempt me away from Nyra of course. Perhaps I'll let her use them as kindling for the fire."

At that, Ned unwillingly frowned. "I would be careful on ignoring some of the Lords' letters, Nox. Many will know that gaining your favor to be a, how did you put it? A long shot? But some more prominent Lords will not take refusal well and may seek retaliation. And not necessarily on your person."

His meaning was not lost on Nox, and Ned just barely managed to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine as he could feel the unmistakable coldness that was associated with one drawing heavily on the dark side of the Force. "They harm a hair on Nyra's head…and they will learn the wrath of a Sith is the most _terrifying_ thing to ever evoke."

"Aye, I believe that." Ned nodded as the warmth slowly returned to their surroundings. "Now, onto other matters. As well as the ravens from King's Landing, I also received a letter from White Harbor. Lord Wyman Manderly has begun construction on the vessel you, Maester Luwin, Asha Greyjoy, and Wendel Manderly collaborated on. While the cost will be within your projections, unfortunately Lord Manderly estimates that it will take a year at best to complete construction of the vessel and to make sure it's seaworthy."

A year past, Wyman had sent his second son Wendel to Winterfell to try and garner the approval of both Nox and himself, much the same as many of the other Lords of the Realm had done since the declaration of spring by the Maesters. And like almost all who came before him, Wendel was met with disappointment as Nox informed him that he did not have the means to learn the Force. But unlike many of the other second sons and heirs who immediately turned tail and left, Wendel stayed and sought to learn whatever he could from Nox. It was during his stay at Winterfell that he, Nox, Luwin, and Asha of all people began creating the designs for a new ship. A ship that, once completed, would without a doubt be the power to best on the water.

The ship was a galleon in design, but that classification almost did it an injustice when compared to the few galleons in the South. The ship, once completed, would measure at least ninety paces long and nearly thirty across. Including the main deck, the ship would have three lower decks beneath it. Multiple cabins would be scattered throughout the lower decks, and side slots in the hull above the water level would be able to be opened, creating an opening for scorpions to fire from. And to help with protection of the ship, the inner workings were reinforced with iron plates to reinforce the ship from breaching. The top deck would have four masts and the second to lowest level would have the ability to run out oars as well. And due to the ship's sheer size, it would take hundreds of men to properly man the vessel.

When the proposal had first be brought to him, Ned had nearly laughed the men, and woman, out of his solar when he saw the sheer scope of the project. Not only would it cost a substantial amount of coin to build, but to keep the sailors onboard and the ship properly maintained would cost a small fortune. But Nox, like always, had a counter to his argument. As well as laying out the designs, the four had also laid out a plan to pay for the vessel without putting a dent in the coffers of the North, as well as to how to keep it manned. And if their plans worked out, not only would the vessel hardly cost them anything, but in a decade or less it would be bringing in a substantial amount of coin from trade.

"A year will be fine. It will give us time to prepare." Nox responded almost immediately. "That is, of course, if you still plan on allowing the expedition I requested to come to fruition."

Ned felt his head start to ache as Nox brought up his wish once more. "Your request is not one that is so easily granted, Nox," Ned sighed. "Many have tried to navigate the ruins of Valyria and the Smoking Sea. Gerion Lannister, the youngest brother of Tywin, set out himself no more than a few years past. And he, like all the others who have attempted the venture, have yet to return home."

"All those others were missing one key aspect that we will have, Ned. Me." Nox responded, sounding incredibly sure of himself. "My lack of eyesight is exactly what will allow me to help to navigate the Smoking Sea and venture deep into the ruins of Valyria. And once there, perhaps I can locate the strange darkness I've felt emanating from the east."

_'The __darkness,_' Ned thought, his eyes wandering to the east.

Ove the years, Nox had been able to help him hone his abilities with the Force. He wasn't nearly as well versed in the Force as Nox, nor even his own children at this point. But he was able to at least meditate and reach out with the Force, and at times even receive visions as Nox called them. Although deciphering the cryptic messages from the Old Gods and Force was still something that mostly alluded Ned. But during one of their meditation sessions, Ned had sensed what Nox had. A great darkness to the east, an almost…hunger. An insatiable hunger to devour. It was a strange sensation to say the least. And one that Ned had no desire to ever encounter at its source.

"Is this darkness you speak of the one you saw in your vision when you first arrived?"

"No," Nox answered almost immediately. "It is…similar, almost kindred if you will. But it is not the darkness that I sensed that threatens to devour the land. However, should this darkness in the east not be quelled, then it will aid the other darkness that is to come."

And that is what it always came back too. This darkness that Nox claimed will devour the land unless it is stopped. Even after years of knowing him, Ned still wasn't completely convinced of the darkness that Nox spoke of, it sounded too much like the myth of the Others and the White Walkers to his liking. But in the end, Nox believed in his vision, and that belief led to Nox aiding and strengthening the North to almost unheard-of levels. And Ned knew, that if he didn't aid Nox in combating what he perceived as a threat, that the man would go off and do it himself.

"Very well," Ned nodded. "But the Lords of the North will be most anxious. As I have said, few have dared to traverse those lands since the Doom. And if you should find any spoils of Valyria, they will want something as well."

"Then send out ravens a moon's turn or so before the ship is ready to depart," Nox counter argued. "Offer a spot on the vessel to the Northern houses. And whatever spoils that are collected from Valyria will be given out accordingly."

Scratching his chin, Ned nodded. "I'm not sure if allowing their heirs or vassals to travel with you will ease their anxiety or increase it. But the thoughts of scavenging the ruins of Valyria will most definitely be worth the risk to many, I think."

"Then it's decided." Nox declared with a note of finality. "But there is one more thing we need to discuss, Ned. A rather…personal matter regarding the expedition. I've been meditating long on what might happen, and most is still uncertain. But there is one factor that I know _must_ occur. Jon must accompany me on this voyage. I am unsure as to the exact nature of what will happen, but something will occur during the voyage. And Jon _must_ be present for it. Maybe it has something to do with his ancestry and where we are heading."

Ned felt his blood run colder than the wall and his heart cease in his chest. "Jon, why?" Ned asked nervously. Truthfully, he didn't want Jon within a hundred leagues of the home of the Dragonlords. "He is but a boy or not even twelve name-days. And despite his actions of late and the fact that he has been bloodied in battle, he is not yet a man. And his blood, Jon is my son, a son of the North. Nothing more."

Turning his back on him, Nox waved his hand towards the door. The door closed abruptly as the latch clicked shut. A gentle wave of the Force pulsed from Nox, settling around Ned and the sorcerer. '_A…silencing __dome,_' Ned recalled Nox calling such a technique, his anxiety growing with each passing moment. '_A useful technique to ensure there are no unwanted ears to a conversation. But what could he say that is so pressing that…no. He can't know. Can he?_'

His hopes of Nox not knowing the secret of Jon's birth were quickly dashed as Nox faced him once more. His eyeless face completely devoid of all emotion. "I am not a fool, Lord Stark. So please do not take me for one. Think back, my friend. I have been here for nearly five years, and in all that time have I once called Jon your son?"

Ned felt like he'd been punched in the gut by the Great Jon while wearing a steel gauntlet. "How long?"

"Since the first moment you two stood side by side," Nox answered. "I will admit, it is a good ruse, and you're lucky the boy takes after his Stark heritage. I doubt that any who simply look at the boy would mistake him for anything but your son. Especially given your reputation as the most honorable man in the realm. But to someone like me, someone who can see beyond the surface, I can tell that is not the case. There is a familial connection between the two of you, to be sure, but it is not the connection that is held between a parent and their biological child. So, at the start, I knew he was not yours. Which left three options. He's not Ben's, as he would have no need to hide it. Your elder brother was a well-known skirt chaser so that was a possibility, but it was unlikely that you would dishonor your brother's name by denying him the knowledge of who his true parents were. Which left one option. And the mostly likely candidate for the father became obvious when I read the history of what happened. Which even goes to explain your motivations in naming him your bastard and keeping him, and indeed the rest of the realm, in ignorance."

If he had a dagger on his person, Ned would've been gripping it's hilt by the time Nox had finished speaking. There were only two people who knew the truth of Jon, himself and Howland Reed. And now Nox. While two people could keep a secret, especially as one preferred to stay isolated in his keep in the Neck, three people increased the odds of others finding out. And how long until more pieced it together? And what would Robert's reaction be once he learned of Jon's parentage? Would his love for Ned's sister overrule his hatred for the dragon blood that ran through his veins? Or would the fact that his sister had a child and with her last breath begged Ned to keep him safe finally push his friend over the proverbial edge?

"You are worried that I will spread this secret, or that I have plans to put Jon on the Iron Throne to usurp your friend, Robert," Nox stated, giving voice to Ned's thought, which made him immediately pull back on himself as he tried to form the 'mental walls' around his mind as Nox had shown him. "I don't need to read your mind to know your thoughts, Ned. Your feelings are practically screaming them. And to ease your mind, I have no plans to place Jon Snow on the Iron Throne or to usurp your friend. You have my word and oath on that. And seeing as how I haven't brought up Jon's true parentage in the past five years, I hope that I've earned your respect enough to acknowledge that I can keep this a secret. No one, and I mean _no one_, will learn about Jon's true ancestry from me."

Ned felt himself relax at the oath. _'He speaks the truth_.' He thought, trying to calm his racing heart. _'By his own admission, he has known of Jon's true parentage for nearly his entire time here in the North. And no one knew, not even myself. He's proven he can keep a secret, especially one that is as dangerous as this. If word got out of Jon's parentage, combined with the spreading knowledge of Nox training him, many would assume that, given Nox's appearance, that he was indeed trying to put the dragons back on the Iron Throne. And while his word and oath are enough to ease my mind, Nox's sense of self-preservation does so in equal measure_.'

"And what purpose will Jon serve on the expedition that another man cannot?" Ned pressed, trying to see if there was anything nefarious in Nox's request.

"Truthfully? I don't know." Nox shrugged, surprisingly Ned. "All that the Force has shown me is that if we are to survive the coming darkness, then certain things need to happen. Some of which will occur on this voyage. And Jon must be there to experience them. But don't worry, Ned. I don't plan on putting Jon in a situation I don't believe he can handle. I've grown quite fond of the boy over the years."

Breathing deep, Ned closed his eyes. _'Lyanna…what would you want for your son?_' It was a silly question, and he knew that the moment he asked it of his sister. He knew what she would want for her son. She would want him to live free. Live a life of adventure and excitement. The life that was denied to her. "Very well, Nox." Ned nodded. "Jon will accompany you on this voyage."

"Thank you. And there is one more topic regarding this voyage that we need to discuss. Asha. She will be coming along as well."

Now Ned wanted to ram his head against the stone wall of the tower. "Another Force prediction, Nox?"

"No. Just saying, Asha helped to design the ship we'll be using to get there. And honestly, from what I've seen and heard, the Northmen are not the greatest sailors. And even at a young age, the girl probably has more time on the water than most of the sailors in White Harbor. Her knowledge will be vital. That, and I doubt you'd be able to keep her from going even if you wanted too."

The sorcerer had a point. The girl was even more headstrong than Lyanna. And that was saying something. And although she was still a ward of House Stark, per the King's command she would be free to return to the Iron Islands in a little over a year, roughly the same time during which the expedition would be taking place. Staying silent, he began weighing the decision in his mind should anything come to happen to her during the voyage. He could argue that he did not have a say in her decision should anything come to pass during the voyage. But still, he doubted that Lord Greyjoy would be so understanding should his only daughter come to harm during her stay as his ward. On the other hand, he was sure that the possibility of having his daughter on a voyage to the heart of Valyria would be something Balon would want. Especially if she was able to replicate the voyage under the banner of the Ironborn. And he wasn't so sure he wanted the Greyjoys to have a map laid out to them that would lead into the heart of Valyria. There was no telling what a man like Balon or his brothers would do if they managed to get their hands on such knowledge. But then again, allowing her to go could reaffirm her loyalty to the crown and help to influence the Iron Islands back into the true fold of the Seven Kingdoms. Something that Ned knew Nox was working on.

"Should she request it of me, I will not deny her request," Ned spoke, coming to a decision that he truly hoped he wouldn't come to regret. "I take it that you will be continuing her training in her Force abilities during the expedition as well?"

Ned had hoped to have caught Nox off guard with his comment, but to his surprise, Nox only shrugged. "Of course. She's not as Force sensitive as your children or Jon. But she does have certain skills that can be honed. Much like your own."

Turning to his friend, Ned stared at cloth covering the man's ruined eyes. "You don't sound surprised that I know of your secret training of Asha."

To this, Nox scoffed. "Please, Ned. Winterfell is your keep. The seat of House Stark. Plus, while your powers have not been able to be refined like the young ones, your powers are still developing. Enough so that you should be able to sense an individual's Force sensitivity and be able to identify if they've had training or not. At this point, I'd be more disappointed and surprised if you didn't know that I was training her. And as you have not stopped her from learning, you must obviously know what I'm trying to accomplish. And tell me the truth, Ned, if you had to choose, who would you rather see on the Seastone Chair leading the Ironborn? Theon or Asha?"

The choice wasn't a difficult one. Or at least it wouldn't have been had both been men. "Asha is a Lady of the Realm," Ned countered. "She cannot inherit her father's seat in front of her brother."

To this, Nox merely shook his head. "Why? Because her reproductive organs are inside rather than swinging between her legs? Cause she bleeds once a month in a biological cycle that? How does that make her unfit to rule a land? She is far smarter, more skilled, more powerful, and most importantly older than her brother. Why should she not rule the Iron Islands? Lady Dustin rules her lands in the absence of a husband and son does she not? And if the tales are true, Lady Orlenna rules the Reach through her puppet of a son. And in Dorne, the eldest regardless of gender takes the mantle of rulership when the time comes. Why should Asha be any different?"

"The Lords of the Iron Islands will never accept a woman to lead them." Ned tried to argue, trying to make Nox understand. He'd grown to care for the girl. He saw his sister in Asha almost as much as he saw her in Arya. The Lords of the Iron Islands would tear her apart should she try and stake a claim to her father's seat.

"Asha knows full well the uphill battle that she will have to fight, should she wish to claim the Seastone chair. And she more than willing, and capable, of fighting and winning such a fight. Especially if she has the backing of highly influential individuals in the mainland Kingdoms."

Ned was losing the argument, both to Nox and to himself as he began to see the benefits of having Asha controlling the Ironborn. As much as it pained him to say, as he did not like to favor one child above the other, if he had to choose between the Theon and Asha, he would choose Asha. The young woman had a good head on her shoulders. And she seemed to genuinely want the Ironborn to abandon the 'old way'. Something that Ned was highly in favor of. "And what of Theon?"

To that, Nox merely shrugged. "That would be up to Asha. She will be his head of house if all goes well. What position he will hold will be up to her."

Looking down at the clear glass in his hand, Ned finished off the small amount of whiskey within. "Very well," Ned sighed. "Should Asha manage to have herself named as Heir to the Iron Islands, then she will have the backing of the Starks and the North."

"Your backing will help her keep hold on the islands after she's managed to take it for herself to be sure," Nox nodded, taking the empty glass from Ned. "Now that those unpleasantries are out of the way, shall we start discussing the specific details of the expedition to Valyria? Even with a year wait, I'm sure it will take some time to gather enough volunteers for the voyage. And the more details we can give your bannermen the better odds of getting those volunteers quickly and getting them trained to sail."

* * *

Walking across the smooth deck surface of the newly christened 'Sea Wolf', Nox took his time to examine every inch of the large sea vessel that had quite literally just been put into the water less than a month prior. '_I have to give credit where it is __due,_' Nox thought as he finished his examination of the vessel, finding no faults in the construction of the ship that would serve to ferry the Northmen and himself across the Narrow Sea and to Valyria. '_While primitive, the natives of this world can truly build some wonderous constructs when they put their __minds__ to it_.'

The ship was impressive to say the least. And the builders had managed to follow the designs that he, Asha, Luwin, and Wendel had collaborated on. Although, truth be told, his contribution was less in the actual designing of the ship and more along the lines of potential ways to improve it while the other three worked his ideas into something that was functional. It was…humbling, to say the least. His time as a slave and amongst the Sith had forced him to learn an extremely wide range of subjects from anatomy, to medicine, to ship mechanics to politics, to agriculture and just about everything else in between. But one thing that he had spent very little time on was seafaring wooden ships, understandably given the primitive nature of such a vessel.

Stopping near the bow of the ship, Nox heard the voice of Lord Manderly as he led Lord Stark around the deck. The man had puffed up like a prized winning bird when Lord Stark had arrived and congratulated the Lord and his men on their construction of the ship. And now, it looked like the man was trying to capitalize on the praise to integrate himself even more so into the good graces of Lord Stark. His ambition shining like the suns of Tatooine. '_Which is __reassuring,_' Nox thought silently with a smile as he sensed the two men wander away from him. '_I wouldn't be able to trust the man if he'd gone through all of this for nothing_.'

Leaning against the railing of the ship and breathing in the sea air, he let his mind wander as he took stock of those of import that had decided to join on with the expedition. He'd been pleasantly pleased with the response that Ned had received from his bannermen when he'd announced the expedition to Valyria to his bannermen. Within a mere two weeks of having sent the initial ravens, dozens were flying back from the various keeps littered across the North promising their backing in the forms of men, coin, or even in a few cases heirs or spares of the Lords themselves. Although what was even more telling were the houses that had not offered men or coin and had merely offered their well wishes.

'_House Bolton, Dustin and __Ryswell,_' Nox repeated in his head for the hundredth time since the ravens had returned to Winterfell all those moons ago. '_To give up the chance to explore Valyria and take a share in the riches of the land… __Even__ if they truly believed the voyage was doomed to fail, the chance was well worth the price. So why would they snub the chance? Does their hatred of House Stark truly run so deep?_' To that, Nox almost laughed at his own naivety. He'd sensed the pure hatred and loathing almost rolling off Lady Dustin the first time he'd met her before heading to the Iron Islands. And Lord Bolton, while he didn't outright hate Lord Stark and was able to keep control of himself at least visibly, was clearly lusting after the power that came with the title of Warden of the North. '_Be it the Sith Empire, the Galactic __Senate,__ or here in this backwater world. Politics and the desire for more power, no matter the definition, never ceases_.'

Chasing away such thoughts, he went back to those who were on the ship with them. Asha Greyjoy was near the helm of the ship and was, unsurprisingly, grilling three shifts of helmsmen on the controlling of the ship. No doubt the young woman was intending to take the ship designs back with her to the Iron Islands when she left the North to return home, something that Ned had brough up with no small amount of concern. Which was understandable to a point. Should those who wished to continue the 'old way' get their hands on this ship, it would take an armada to stop it. Especially if it was under the control of such seafaring people like the Ironborn. But Nox had faith in Asha. Or rather in her ambition at any rate. She was smart enough to see the path of destruction that her people were on. They needed to change. And she had the spine to do it. And if a ship akin to the _Sea Wolf_ could help further her plans, then Nox and a begrudging Ned were willing to accept it.

Near the gangplank were Jon, Robb, and Theon. The three boys, or rather almost young men according to this land's sense of appropriate age, were laughing good-naturedly with one another. But despite their good-natured barbs, Nox could sense the underlying feelings within each of them as clearly as if they were shouting them at the top of their lungs. Jon was excited and nervous, understandable considering the voyage ahead of them. Robb was…more complicated. He was excited, but at the same time extremely jealous that his 'brother' was going, and he was being forced to stay behind. The boy had gone so far as to get down on his hands and knees and beg his father to let him go as well. But Lord Stark had been resilient. Which was understandable, Robb was his heir. The boy couldn't risk himself on a potentially dangerous voyage like this one. Not when he was still so young. And as for Theon, well, the Ironborn boy was a whirlwind of emotions. Depression at being left behind. Anger by the fact his sister was allowed passage over him. And mixed in was a sort of…relief that Jon and Nox would be away from Winterfell for a time. A sentiment that Nox mildly shared with the boy. Whereas Jon, Robb, Asha, and even Arya had begun to excel and grow substantially under his tutelage, Theon had stuttered and basically failed. The boy had very little Force potential, and his sense of entitlement, which was still prevalent even after several years, was still a major hurdle that the boy was unable, or willing, to overcome.

Letting the three have their moment to themselves, Nox scanned the other Lords and Ladies that were giving last minute instructions to those who would be accompanying Nox. The Great Jon had his son 'Small Jon', which was an ironic title as the young man was just a fist width shorter than his father, firmly by the shoulders. A fair distance away, the Lord Karstark has his second son Eddard Karstark in a fierce hug. And a small distance away from the Karstarks stood Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey Mormont, the latter of whom would be accompanying Nox. While many were joining the expedition for the chance at fame and glory, the Mormont's reason for joining was not as grand. It was no secret in the North that Jorah Mormont had recently been draining the coffers of Bear Islands in order to keep his new wife, a noblewoman from the Hightower House from the Reach, pleased. No doubt the she-bears thought that this voyage would be their best, and potentially only, way of refueling their coffers without having to resort to anything drastic.

All in all, the diversity of Northern houses that were represented was impressive. But it was who would not be joining Nox that he felt most keenly. Nyra. The young native Northern woman that had managed to work her way into his hardened heart so thoroughly that even now the thought of leaving her for months on end caused a pain in his chest. He hadn't intended for their relationship to develop to this point when he'd first met her, nor even when he'd returned from the Iron Islands and had taken her under his wing. At best, he figured that she would be a nice little distraction when he needed it. But as time passed, he found himself drawn to the young woman. She reminded him so much of Ashara that it was almost painful. Not physically of course, he doubted he would be able to find any Togrutas here on this world. But all the same, she had the same fire, the same drive within her that had attracted him to Ashara in the first place.

Nyra hadn't been pleased to be left behind either. Their argument at his decision was…unpleasant. And had left him with a very cold bed for nearly a month. But in the end, she relented and saw his point of view. It wasn't because he thought her uncapable. Quite the opposite in fact. He needed her to stay behind _because_ she was capable. She was the only one he trusted to continue overseeing the various projects and business ventures he had set up, both for himself and of the North. The night before they left Winterfell, she had proceeded to give him a farewell that had sent more than a few tongues wagging in Winterfell. Despite his not so inconsequential stamina that came from years of Sith training, Nyra had nearly worn him out to the point where his body almost refused to move. '_I wanted to give you a reason to come back to __me_,' she had said the next morning, '_and to make sure you were sated enough not to search for the company of whores when the ship inevitably makes port_.' Well, she had certainly marked her territory as the nail marks on his back and chest that had still not healed completely were any indication.

He was so caught up in his memories of Nyra's parting night, that he didn't even realize Ned and Manderly were approaching him until the two were nearly on top of him. "Lord Stark, Lord Manderly," he greeted properly, turning to the two.

"Nox," Ned acknowledge back. "The last of the supplies are loaded and all of those who volunteered are onboard."

"Good." Nox nodded. "Well then, I guess that this is it."

"Aye, it is," Ned nodded before turning to Lord Manderly. "Lord Manderly, let the men know that everyone who isn't going should disembark. Once everyone is off, the ship is to cast off."

"As you wish, Lord Stark." Manderly nodded, bowing once to Stark before bowing to Nox and making his way away from the two.

Once alone, the two men stood in silence as Ned's grey eyes met Nox's ruined eyes. "I need your word, Nox, Alim," Ned began. "He may not have my name, but he is my blood and my son. Your word that you _will_ _make sure_ he will return."

"He will, Ned," Nox nodded. "I give you my word on that."

Ned's presence in the Force relaxed ever so slightly. "Then, I will hold you too it." The Lord of the North said, holding out his hand. "May your gods watch over you, my friend."

Clasping Ned's forearm, Nox nodded. "And may the Force be with you, my friend."


	9. The Valyria Expedition Part 1

**Well, I'm back! Sorry for the longer than normal delay in getting this out. All I can say is that real life can be a royal pain. Especially this year. Anyway, not a whole lot to discuss before getting into this one. So, I just want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted or added this story to your favorites. Writing is a stress reliever of mine, and the knowledge that there are so many out there enjoying what I wrote really helps to motivate me to keep going.**

**One thing I do want to point out, this story is following the books far more closely than it is the show, however I am utilizing aspects of the show that I liked (the few there were outside of the visuals). Also, like the book, there will be a lot more magic and mysticism in this story than in the show.**

**And once again, a huge thank you to my beta reader Tellemicus Sundance, whose been a huge help not only in beta reading, but in also helping with my brainstorming and helping me keep some of more wilder ideas from making this story go sideways.**

**Standard disclaimer; I do not own Star Wars, Game of Thrones or A Song of Fire and Ice. If I did…well I wouldn't have to break my back working fifty plus hours a week lol.**

**Hope that you all enjoy! And please feel free to leave a review if you feel so inclined! And one last thing, pairings for the Stark children and other couples have been decided. And, minor spoiler, they are not the more common of pairings, but ones that I enjoy.**

**Chapter 9**

Standing next to the helm of the _Sea Wolf_, former Darth Nox, Lord of the Sith, member of the Dark Council of the Sith Empire and a current Lord of Westeros and the Northern Sorcerer, watched through the Force as the massive ship cut through the waves of the ocean with barely a tremor felt. The ship's massive size granted it such stability that unless they encountered a large wave, the calm to choppy waters of the Narrow Sea did little to disturb the passengers and sailors on board as they sailed down the coast of Essos heading ever closer to their destination. Leaning his head back, Nox took in a deep breath of sea air.

He hadn't really realized it before, as he hadn't had a chance too, but he'd missed this. Not the sailing, although that too was enjoyable to a point. No, what he missed was the _adventure_. Heading off into the unknown. Searching for secrets long since lost and returning with knowledge worth more even more than raw coaxium. Ever since the end of his 'apprenticeship' under his former master Darth Zash, Nox had not had a moment to truly head out and pursue this type of venture again. After Zash's death, he was stuck running for his life from Darth Thanaton before wading through the swamps of Taris and then the frozen wasteland of Hoth. And after that, he was stuck trying to keep his body from deteriorating from the Force Walking ritual so that he could finally confront Darth Thanaton and kill the son of a bitch. Which then led to his ascension to the Dark Council and the end to any potential 'free time' he might've had as he suddenly found himself responsible for an entire sect of the Sith, maintaining his own fleet of Imperial ships and soldiers, while at the same time keeping an eye out for any potential upstarts within the Sith that thought they had a chance at taking what was his.

The only thing that could've truly made this little venture of his more enjoyable would be if Nyra was by his side. It had honestly surprised him how fast the once timid girl had worked her way into his life. But now, now she was as much a fixture of his thoughts as Ashara had been, and still was. But while the two women might be equal in his heart now, they were quite different. Oh, they both had the same fire and drive that attracted him so. But if he were being completely honest, Ashara was the stronger of the two. He'd tried to teach Nyra to fight, but she'd been…well, miserable at it. He'd been persistent with her, and while she did learn a few things and could probably hold her own for a time against most, she would never be able to truly stand by his side on the field of battle as an equal. But while she might not be the warrior that Ashara was, she was strong in other areas. Which was why he'd had no qualms about leaving her in charge of his affairs while he was away. He trusted her, probably above all others, to do what needed to be done.

'_At least this time I won't be going skinny dipping in a toxic waste dump on Balmorra_.' Nox thought, chuckling lightly to himself as he remembered the defector Imperial doctor that he dragged back from a Republic base. '_Although, based on what I've learned of the so-called 'Doom of Valyria', I could very well be walking headfirst into a similar situation_.'

Ever since he'd had the vision before the weirwood tree in Winterfell all those years ago, Nox had been dedicating almost every moment he could to deciphering it. While some aspects of the vision he could make sense of, for every one of those occurrences there were still ten or more that did not make much sense. The great darkness that was threatening to overrun Westeros for instance was still a mystery to him, although after digging through the library and speaking discreetly with the denizens of the North, he had a fair idea of just what, if not who, the darkness was. But the other dark presences around this world still eluded him. Not something that he was accustomed to, nor something that he was comfortable with. And due to the lack of effective transportation, he was unfortunately stuck with dealing with the threat's closest to him for the time being.

Whenever he entered a deep state of mediation, he could almost feel the individual dark presences across the globe. And besides the strangely clouded presence far to the north of Westeros, there was only one that was close by. And it resided in a land that few dared to tread. Valyria: the perfect place to hide. And there was not a doubt in his mind that whatever this dark presence was or is, it had something to do with the 'Doom of Valyria'. '_It had to be some sort of Force Ritual gone wrong. Or right, pending on one's point of view_.' Nox pondered while idly drumming his fingertips against the railing of the ship.

Nox could think of several rituals off the top of his head that could have a backlash, intentionally or not, that could equal the devastation reportedly caused by the Doom. And none of those rituals were pleasant. Well, not that many Sith rituals could be considered 'pleasant' in the first place. But still, there were a few rituals that any Sith with barely a mediocre amount of sense in their heads knew to stay well away from.

The only other theory he had for the Doom was a natural disaster like a volcanic eruption. But that seemed more and more unlikely with each new fact he learned about Valyria. The land was rife with 'magic'. And even a novice Sith Acolyte would've been able to sense such a disastrous event well before it occurred. Then there was the Smoking Sea itself, a simple strait that became a sea after the Doom shattered the peninsula that Valyria once sat upon. The sea constantly smoked, and the water boiled. And then there were the demons and stone men were said to room within its depths. Not something that Nox considered to be a 'natural' phenomenon.

Hearing a commotion from the main deck of the _Sea Wolf_, Nox pulled his senses back into himself and to the ship. Standing on the main deck of the ship, surrounded by a good portion of the crew, were two individuals who, despite sharing the same name, were complete opposites in terms of size from one another. 'Small Jon' Umber, although Nox was sure the name was ironic as the newly turned twenty-year-old man stood even a full head above Nox, was making small circles around his much small opponent, Nox's own acolyte Jon Snow. While to the passerby it might look like the two were sparring, they were instead playing a game that Nox had introduced to the crew as an attempt to alleviate some of the boredom and stress that can come from long voyages such as this. On each of their backs, they had a strip of red cloth the size of a man's arm tucked into the waistline of their pants. The objective was simple: the first one to get the cloth from the opponent won. And the only rules were no weapons and no drawing blood.

However, despite the severe size mismatch, Jon was holding his own as he used his smaller frame to deftly dodge around Small Jon's light punches and attempts to grab him while those who were surrounding the two were shouting words of encouragement or taunts as coins and verbal bets were being passed between one another. Of those trading the taunts and barbs, the ones who surprised Nox the most were Dacey Mormont and Asha Greyjoy. Not because the two were in the crowd joining in with the others, but rather because the two were standing side by side and laughing with one another.

Despite the long history of animosity between the two young women's Houses and their relatively frosty introduction to one another, the two women had developed a strange comradery during the voyage. And now, it was almost strange to find one during the day without the other right next to her. Their relationship was probably helped by the fact that, being the only two women onboard the vessel, they were placed into the same cabin with one another. So, they were forced to either try and find some common ground between themselves or be faced with a very long voyage ahead.

Hearing a chorus of cheers and groans as well as the sound of coins changing hands, Nox focused on Jon and Jon. His Acolyte had managed to jump and flip over the much large man's head and had grabbed hold of the red cloth on his opponent's back, before tucking and rolling away from him. Ending the match between the two as he came up with the cloth in hand and a grin that nearly split his face in two.

Even though this voyage had only just really begun, the changes in Nox's young Acolyte were astonishing. The boy had grown by leaps and bounds, not necessarily in terms of power, but rather in confidence. Something that he needed desperately but was heavily stunted due to his time in Winterfell and to his status as a bastard. While Nox had noted that the Northern people did not care for a man's status but rather his deeds, the title still held a heavy weight over the boy's head. _'Primarily because it had been drilled into his head for years before I arrived and could cease the berating_.' Nox thought sourly. _'It's taken a long time to undo years of conditioning_.'

Their brief stop in Braavos to resupply had done wonders not only for Jon, but for many of the men of the North. Most of whom had never stepped foot outside the Northern territory in their entire lives. Of course, he was sure that many of the men were just happy with the few silver stags that were presented to each member of the crew. Which Nox had no doubt immediately went into the hands of the brothels near the port. Small Jon certainly hadn't been shy about boasting about his own trip to the local brothel where, by his more than likely overstated claim, he had been able to satisfy four whores to such a degree that he actually had to convince them to keep the coin he paid them with.

Jon of course, had turned red at the tale. His acolyte might have already bloodied himself in battle, but he was still just a boy of twelve, nearly thirteen years of age. And while puberty had set in, due to his upbringing, the boy was far too timid around the fairer sex for Nox's liking. _'The boy needs to get over his unease towards women. In Braavos, the boy went completely red and he lost his focus simply because a whore flashed him her tits and offered him the time of his life. Should he ever come across a female opponent, either on the field of battle or off, he could and will be easily distracted if she knows what she's doing. And such a distraction can prove fatal. It's why a few female Sith I knew fought in such skimpy outfits. They used their bodies as a distraction to a great effect against those who were not ready for it_.'

The simplest answer was simply to get Jon laid. But considering the boy was only twelve years of age, that was not really an option. Sure, there was no true 'age of consent' on this backwater world. But it still wasn't a route that Nox was willing to go down. '_Asha has been a good influence on the boy, and Dacey as well_.' Nox thought as he watched the only two women, who had both opted for loose fitting clothes that left little to the imagination due to the heat they were experiencing on the ship, walk up and congratulate Jon on his victory, which made the young man freeze and go red slightly. '_But it is not enough. Perhaps locking him in a room with a dozen naked women…not to have sex, but rather just to get him used to the female form would work?_'

"Lord Nox."

Turning away from the scene occurring on the main deck, Nox turned his attention to Ser Wendel Manderly, who was considered to officially be second-in-command of the _Sea Wolf_ even though he was said vessel's Captain. Although, unofficially, on this voyage he was third after Asha who'd taken to the ship as if it were her own. And while he certainly wasn't as robust as his father, the man had some girth to him. Such that Nox was surprised that the floorboards of the ship didn't groan whenever he walked across them. "What is it, Ser Wendel?"

"I just finished going over the charts, Lord Sorcerer," Wendel stated, pawing at his long mustache that fell around his lips and down past his chin. "Should the wind hold, we should be reaching the Stepstones within two days, my Lord. Was also wondering if you want us to stop in Tyrosh to resupply before we make our way through. The men could surely use another day at port. Braavos did wonders."

"That it did," Nox nodded in acknowledgement. "But no, we will not be stopping in Tyrosh. We'll be sailing past the Sea of Myrth soon enough, and Tyrosh is too close to Myr for my liking. And considering all the Wolf and Mermaid banners and emblems on this ship, I'd rather not give Myr the chance to organize some sort of accident to befall us as we make our way through the islands and around the Disputed Lands."

Wendel didn't necessarily look pleased, but he nodded his head in agreement. "Aye, I can see your point, Lord Sorcerer. The North certainly isn't high up on Myr's list of friends as of late, considering how much coin we've cost them. I'll inform the crew that we won't be stopping in Tyrosh, my Lord. But, if not Tyrosh, then where will we make port again?"

"Volantis," Nox answered without hesitation. "I want us to be well and clear of the Disputed Lands before we make port."

"Very well, my Lord." Wendel nodded, moving aside as Nox strode past him towards the steps that led down to the main deck.

Without saying another word, Nox turned the moment he was on the main deck and made for the back of the ship where the cabins belonging to the Captain and the First Mate lay. Though, right now the captain's cabin belonged to Nox and the First mate's cabin belonged to Dacey and Asha while Wendel and his first mate had moved down into the lower level of the ship and had taken one of the cabins below deck for their own.

In true Northern fashion, the captain's cabin wasn't overly ornate nor large. There was a bed, a cloth screen that sectioned off a small corner of the room where his lavatory was, and the middle of the room was dominated by a table. Once in his cabin, he moved immediately to the table where several charts and dozens of books were scattered. Letting his fingers glide across the surface of the table, he stopped when his fingers brushed across the spine of one of his many books. Without even having to focus on it, he knew exactly which book it was. '_A History of Volantis since the Doom of Valyria,_' Nox thought, reading the title of the book without even looking at it.

While almost all the crew, including Asha and Dacey if the rumors were to be true, where chasing pleasures of the flesh in Braavos, Nox had spent his time chasing something else entirely. Something that was far more valuable than a few brief moments of relief. Knowledge.

The library of Winterfell was extensive, almost unbelievably so. Some of the books and scrolls that Nox had stumbled across while perusing the shelves dated back thousands of years, almost to the time when this world first began to learn the written word. But despite the deep history found in the Winterfell, it was lacking significantly in anything related to the lands outside of Westeros. Which was why, the moment he'd stepped foot off the _Sea Wolf_ in Braavos, he'd set off for the nearest bookstore he could find.

Unfortunately for him, there were only a few in Braavos as the written word in the land was still done by hand. And each tome was quite expensive. But thankfully, after years of aiding the North and with his own private income from his business ventures in the North and other parts of Westeros, he'd collected a fair amount of coin to his name. A fair portion of which he'd brought with him on for this exact purpose. After three stores, coincidentally the only three that were housed in Braavos, and spending nearly all of his coin, Nox had collected a small library for himself and had ordered it to be delivered to the _Sea Wolf_ and set up in his cabin.

After procuring nearly a king's ransom in books, Nox had taken his time in exploring Braavos. Outside of Winterfell, Pyke, White Harbor, and a few other Northern keeps, Nox had not had the time to truly look around this world that he found himself stranded in. Braavos had been…enlightening. A massive sprawling metropolis that valued commerce. A step forward from the current way of life in Westeros as far as Nox was concerned. But given time, Nox would be able to elevate the North into a such a land, and later the rest of Westeros. He'd already acknowledged that he would never be able to get Westeros to the point where there might be even the possibility of reaching the stars once more, but the straggler of hope remained in the back of his mind. Constantly reminding him with all his advancements that maybe, just maybe, there would be a chance. But after seeing Braavos, that hope was gone. The best that he could do was to make peace with his new lot in life and hopefully set up a future where his name and legacy would not perish.

Besides reaching that conclusion and killing the last vestiges of potentially returning to the stars, there was one other noteworthy occurrence during his time in Braavos. And that was when he'd stumbled upon a rather unassuming building sitting upon a rocky knoll near the outskirts of the city proper. A squat and sparsely decorated building with no windows and a black and white door that had a moon-like face that was carved half and half onto each opposing door. It wasn't the unremarkable architecture, nor even the strange choice of coloring on the door that drew him in. But rather the strange Force presence he felt from the building. Neither light nor dark…but one that had a note of finality to it.

'_The House of Black and White_,' Nox had later learned it was called. _'The Temple belonging to those who follow the 'Many-Faced God', or the god of death in layman's terms. Also, home to the Faceless Men, an elite order of assassins known across the world. Even Winterfell's library had mention of the notorious order_.'

After discovering the temple, Nox had spent the remainder of his time in Braavos trying his best to discreetly learn as much as he could about the Temple and its inhabitants. Unfortunately, after three days on shore, what he learned could be summed in less than a single written page. The temple was where people went to die or, if you had the coin or something of equal trade, the place you went to contract the Faceless Men. Although none knew what the prices were nor how to even get the enigmatic followers of the Many-Face God to accept their contract. Nor did anyone know what exactly made the 'Faceless Men', well, faceless.

But Nox had a feeling he knew how they did it. It had to be some sort of Force ritual that involved the essences of those that'd passed. Being a practitioner of the Force-Walking technique, Nox had a rather unique relation with the dead, specifically the spirits of the dead that refused to become one with the Force upon their passing. He could sense them, pacify them, and, with time and the correct ritual, even devour them. Though he had yet to do the last part. And it was that unique connection with the dead that flared to life when Nox had approached the House of Black and White that gave him the clue as to how they did what they did.

'_And they definitely warrant looking into further,_' Nox concluded, letting his fingers slide across the various tomes as he circled the table while his mind wandered. '_Highly trained assassins, even in a backwater world like this one, are dangerous. I should know, given some of the training I went through. And if said assassins had the ability to manipulate the Force to change their appearance into one of the deceased that lay in their halls, then that makes them even more dangerous. Luckily, I should be able to detect such a deception… But still, without actually seeing one of the Faceless men nor studying their techniques, I won't know what even to look for in the first place_.'

Letting out a tired sigh, Nox dropped down into the lone folding cloth chair in his cabin and pulled one of the larger tomes that detailed the recent history of Volantis over to himself. '_I will have time to worry about the Faceless men later,_' he thought, flipping open the book to where he had left off as he slowly let the Force surround him and be his eyes. '_One issue at a time. And for now, I need to learn everything I can about Volantis well before we make port_.'

* * *

Listening to the soft crunching of the spring snow beneath her leather boots, Nyra of Winterfell, lover to the Northern Sorcerer Alim Nox and his unofficial Hand in all matters, walked from the Sorcerer's Tower, formerly the Broken Tower, of Winterfell towards the Great Keep. She'd been summoned to appear in Lord Stark's solar just a short time ago, and she knew the exact reason why the Warden of the North had called for her. And she was not about to come before the Lord Stark with her head down. No. She was of the North. Not some cowed southern cow that didn't have a brain between her ears.

She respected Lord Stark, she truly did. But some of his choices since his ascension to Lordship were not the wisest, not that she would ever voice her opinion. The building of the Sept in Winterfell had rankled her more than slightly. She was of the North, a follower, if only slightly devout, of the Old Gods. And the Sept represented the New Gods, the Seven who are one, the god of the Andals. The same people that had been trying to thousands of years to conquer the North and destroy the faith of the old gods. But despite her misgivings, she kept her opinion to herself. Afterall, at the time she was but a low serving girl with no family.

Then when his daughters came about, he appointed a Septa as their sole teacher. A Septa. Teaching the daughters of the Warden of the North. And she knew from the whispers around Winterfell, whenever the thought of bringing in another Northern Lady to teach the girls was brought up, the Lady Stark immediately shot the idea down. Sure, Maester Luwin taught the girls their numbers and a few other odd lessons here and there. But the Maester was just one man, and his duties vast. So, he did not have the time to give the girls a proper education. And it was because of that that she was being summoned to the Lord's solar before the evening meal.

Approaching the solar, Nyra noted the two guards standing like statues outside the door. Nodding to the two men, she raised her hand to knock and – "Come in Nyra."

Keeping her head high, Nyra pulled on the latch and entered the warm solar. Within the room she saw Lord Stark sitting behind his desk, his Lord's face in place as he sat completely passive and without emotion. To his right sat his wife, the Lady Stark, who was looking at Nyra as if her very presence was insulting. And to the right of Lady Stark stood the reason why Nyra had been summoned. Septa Mordane stood a pace behind and just off to the side of Lady Stark, a large bruise forming around her eye and a split cutting her lip in two. Courtesy of Nyra, and something she was quite proud of.

"Lady Nyra," the very title still felt odd, but she couldn't help but feel a swell of pride running through her as she heard Lord Stark address her so. "I believe that I do not need to say why I have asked you here today."

"Aye my Lord." Nyra nodded, casting a brief look towards the Septa, who was glaring at her. "And while I will apologize for losing my temper, I will not apologize for my actions. I merely responded in a way any true Northern Lady should when dealt an insult to her honor. But I'm sure the Septa has spun a fascinating tale on my heathenistic and deprived ways and my horrible influence on your daughters. And I'm sure most is complete and utter horse shit with only a sprinkling of truth."

"How dare you accuse me of lying, whore!" The Septa cursed, taking a step forward only to stop as Lord Stark raised his hand.

"I told you that I will handle this incident, but only once I have heard both sides, Septa. And you have said your piece. Now you will be quiet." Lord Stark demanded. His voice was as cold as the North itself.

"Of course, Lord Stark," the Septa immediately responded, cowed as she backed away behind Lady Stark, whose eyes were flickering back and forth between the Septa and Nyra. She'd noted the slight twitching of the eye when Nyra had made her comment about a 'true northern lady'.

"Good," Stark nodded, turning his attention to Nyra. "Lady Nyra, if you would please tell us of why you felt it necessary to blacken the eye and split the lip of Septa Mordane."

"Yes, my lord. But I fear that to tell it properly, I will need to provide a bit of clarification to what forced the confrontation between myself and the Septa." She waited until Lord Stark nodded before continuing. "Shortly after Lord Nox left on the expedition, Lady Arya approached me and asked if I could provide instruction for her in absence of Lord Nox. Unfortunately, I cannot as I have not been blessed by the old gods with the ability to utilize the Force like Lord Nox and your children, my Lord."

She couldn't help but notice the huff coming from Septa Mordane, nor the narrowing of the eyes of Lady Stark. And she knew for certain that Lord Stark noticed both as well. "After denying her, she asked what I was working on. I explained to her some of the duties Lord Nox had left me with, trade routes, negotiations and several other needs both within and outside the North. While I talked, I noticed that the young Lady seemed most confused with several of the trade needs of the North that I was describing. So, I started asking her questions. Northern Houses, customs, importance and why certain things needed to come and go from certain regions. She couldn't answer any of my questions. Questions dealing with southern customs, Houses and anything related to the Seven that I could think of she could answer. But almost everything relating to the North, including our own gods, she could barely answer. And from that day I took it upon myself to tutor the young Lady whenever I had time. And forgive me for saying, Lord Stark, but her level of education is shockingly poor. So poor that today I couldn't hold my tongue any longer and confronted Septa Mordane about what she was teaching the girls. Or rather the lack thereof. Our exchange became heated once she told me that I had no say in the girls' education. And that should I continue my lessons with Lady Arya, that she would inform Lady Stark that I was corrupting her daughters and have me removed. I may have called her a shrew. I cannot remember as I fear my temper got the better of me. But she retaliated by saying that I was a heathenistic whore who had damned her own soul by laying with the sorcerer. And that if I had any sense in my head, I would leave the sorcerer and repent my sinful ways by joining the Silent Sisters and pray that the sorcerer hadn't put a seven-damned hell spawn in my womb before he left the North. I'm afraid that at that, I lost my temper and blackened her eye. And if you need proof, there are three guards I can name that can give testimony supporting my words."

Throughout all her explanation, Lord Stark merely sat there, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Guards," he called out after she'd finished, prompting the two Stark guards standing just outside to enter. "Fetch my daughters and Jayne Poole as well. Bring them here immediately."

"Yes, mi'lord," both men intoned, bowing before making a hasty retreat.

Once they were gone, the Septa seemed to think it was her turn to talk as she stepped forward once more. "Lord Stark, I-"

"Will be silent for the moment," Lord Stark commanded, his voice brokering no argument. "After I speak to my daughters, I will let you have your say."

It only took a scant few minutes for the girls to arrive. Sansa and Jayne both looked more than slightly nervous about being called to the Lord's solar. But Arya didn't seem nervous at all. No doubt the lessons Nox had been impressing on the girl about controlling and calming herself was already starting to payoff.

"Have a seat, girls." Lord Stark said, motioning for the girls to take the seats directly across from him and waiting until they were seated before continuing. "Before we start, I want to say that none of you are in trouble. Having said that, though, I want to test your knowledge. I will be asking you all a variety of questions, some easy and some not. And I want your honest answers. Do not be afraid to say that you do not know, for some of what I will ask will be beyond what you should've learned by now."

"Yes father."

"Yes, Lord Stark."

"Good," Lord Stark nodded. "Then let us begin with something simple. If I were to invite House Cerwyn, House Bolton, and House Manderly to Winterfell for a feast, how many places would I need to have the Great Hall prepared for?"

What followed was a regular gauntlet as Lord Stark fired one question after another off at his daughters and the young Jayne Poole. Questions on Northern Houses, Southern Houses, courtesies, questions of faith concerning both the old and new gods. He also posed hypothetical situations to the girls to gauge their responses. He posed questions on how best to prepare for winter and how best to use excess stores once winter was over. And with each question asked or hypothetical situation posed, she could see the anger slowly rising in Lord Stark as his daughters and Jayne failed to correctly answer almost any question that didn't deal with the Faith of the Seven or sewing. She could even see Lady Stark's eyes starting to tighten around the edges as her knuckles turned white from clenching her fists. Although, as a note of pride, Nyra noted that there were a few questions that Arya was able to answer that her sister and Jayne were unable too.

Finally sated, Lord Stark ceased his onslaught of questions and leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his brow tiredly. "I have failed you three."

"Father?" Sansa asked tentatively, looking towards Jayne, her mother and Septa Mordane before turning back to her father. "How…did we…Are you displeased with us? We can do better!"

Nyra almost winced at the heartbroken voice. While she might think Sansa was still a bit naive about the world, although it was understandable considering the girl has just turned ten namedays, she still cared for the young girl. And seeing her distraught expression at having failed her father was life a dagger to the heart.

"I am displeased, but not with you, my daughter," Lord Stark replied tiredly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows against his desk. "As those born to Noble Houses, we were born into privilege, girls. But that privilege comes with a price. The smallfolk look to us for guidance. While the smallfolk serve us, so too do we serve the smallfolk. We must be the shield that protects them from those who would do them harm. We must be the voice of reason to settle disputes between them. We must be the ones they look to for guidance when the snows come. Our nobility is both our privilege and our chains that bind us to duty. And it is my responsibility as your father and Lord to make sure that you are ready to take on this daunting task when the time comes. And I have failed you in this."

Taking a moment to visibly compose himself, Lord Stark met his daughter's eyes as he spoke. "From here on out, your lessons will be significantly different. You will still have lessons with Septa Mordane, but they will be limited. You will be spending time dividing your lessons amongst Lady Stark, learning how to run a household, as well as Lady Nyra and Lady Bethany to supplement your lessons alongside Maester Luwin. This is not a punishment, girls. But you need to be ready for what is to come as future Ladies. Understood?"

Each girl nodded. "Good," Lord Stark nodded back with a slight smile. "You three have the rest of the day to yourselves. Go and have fun in the spring snows while it lasts."

The three girls didn't need telling twice as they nearly tripped over one another in their haste to leave the solar. And once they were gone, the feeling in the room instantly shifted from lighthearted to one of dread as Lord Stark's eyes shifted to the wolf's yellow.

"Lord Stark!" the Septa hissed. "I cannot condone letting Ladies of your daughters standing to be taught by those who are infer-"

Nyra, the Septa and Lady Stark jumped as Lord Stark's fist came down on the surface of his desk with enough force to crack the wood. An impressive feat considering the desk was made of ironwood. "What you condone is of no consequence to me, Septa Mordane." Lord Stark nearly spat, his eyes the darkest yellow Nyra had ever seen. "I trusted you with the education of my daughters and of my Steward's daughter. And you have failed most spectacularly. The only reason I haven't thrown you over the Wall and left you to the mercy of the Wildlings is out of respect for my lady wife! You will teach my daughters lessons of sewing, courtesies, and other aspects of being a lady. But that will be it! The rest of their education will not be decided by you. You're dismissed, Septa. Leave my sight before I let Lady Nyra make your eyes a matching set."

The Septa was beyond stunned as she just stood there for a moment, gaping like a fool. Not even Lady Stark, who'd been an avid supporter of spreading the Faith of the Seven through the North, looked to be willing to support the Septa in this matter. Realizing that she would get nowhere fast now, the Septa did the first smart thing Nyra had seen her do all day by bowing slightly and making a hasty exit for the door.

Now alone with the Lord and Lady Stark, Nyra felt more than slightly awkward. "Um, is there anything else you need from me, my Lord?"

"No," Lord Stark said, shaking his head. "That will be all for the day."

Backing towards the door, Nyra was almost free when the voice of Lady Stark stopped her cold. "Lady Nyra."

Nyra blinked. Once. Then twice. Then turned back around. '_No…There is no way that Lady Stark would actually be showing me some measure of respect…is there?_' The Lady of Winterfell's head was held high, her face completely neutral as she stood beside her husband. "I appreciate you teaching my daughter a few lessons where her Septa has failed." Lady Stark said, stunning Nyra. "But in the future, please refrain from physically striking the Septa. My daughters look up to you, and as such I am expecting you to set a good example for them on how to be proper Ladies."

Whatever Nyra had been expecting, this was not it. "Um, very well, Lady Stark," she said, bowing. "I will make sure that there is no repeat of what happened today. But I will not stand for my honor being insulted again, my Lady. No Lady should."

"Of course not," Lady Stark acknowledged. "But there are more ladylike ways to counter a dishonorable statement rather than relying on your fist like a Wildling."

'_Not a Wilding, true Northern Lady,_' Nyra wanted to say. But instead she merely bit her tongue and, with one last low bow, left the Lord and Lady Stark so that she could continue about her day.

* * *

The city of Volantis was indeed an awe-inspiring sight. The port was perhaps the largest Nox had ever seen in his life. It dwarfed White Harbor and even made the port that was under the Titan of Braavos seem small in comparison. The city itself was divided in half by the Rhoyne river that spread up through Essos, the only connection between the two being the so-called Long Bridge that merged the two parts of the city together into one. But perhaps the most distinguishing part of the city were the Black Walls on the eastern half of the city that served to separate the upper class from the rest of the denizens of Volantis. And it was under the towering walls that Nox found himself, barely even an hour after stepping foot off the _Sea Wolf,_ in the accompaniment of what he could only assume was an honor guard of some sort, given how the dozen men's armor who were escorting him seemed more ceremonial and elaborate than traditional combat armor.

The _Sea Wolf_ had just barely made port before they'd been greeted by the men that were now escorting Nox through the city and into what he could only assume to be the palace that housed the ruling class. The only words they spoken was that they'd been sent by the Tiger Triarch of Volantis who wished to speak with him, and only him. Besides announcing whom they were looking for and why, the only clue as to their identity was the strange small nexu-like creature that was engraved onto the chest of their armor. A tiger, if Nox remember correctly. And the symbol of one of the two main ruling powers of Volantis. Naturally, the men of the North appeared more than slightly put off on the manner to which he'd been summoned, but Nox had dismissed their concerns. If anything, Nox was curious as to how exactly the Triarchs of Volantis knew he was here. And more specifically, why one of them requested a meeting with him before he could even take two steps on dry land.

"Hold," one of the guards called out just as they were about to enter the palace proper while holding out his hand. His accent thick and the word sounded odd, as if he wasn't entirely sure of what he was saying. Obviously, the Westerosi tongue was not native or widely spoken in this land. "Weapon."

Reaching down to his waist, Nox pulled out his lightsaber hilt and flipped it around and held it out for the guard to take. The guard who'd asked hesitantly reached out and took the offered hilt before looking the object over, confusion as to just what he was looking at clear across his face. As he did, Nox subtly waved his hand across the front of his chest. "It is no real weapon. I am carrying no weapons."

The guard scoffed. "This. No weapon." He said in broken Westeros before handing his lightsaber back. "Come. Tiger Maegyr waits."

While they walked through the expansive palace, Nox let his senses flow, taking in everything he could. Which, surprisingly, wasn't much. The palace, despite being the middle of the day, seemed almost empty save for a few servants, or rather slaves, that were scurrying about trying to complete their assigned tasks while making sure to pay no mind to Nox and the guards that were escorting him through the corridors. '_This Tiger Maegyr apparently doesn't want our discussion here to be known_.' Nox concluded as he pulled his sense back into himself. '_Yet he had his personal guards pull me off the ship almost as soon as we docked. Hmm. Politics at its finest I see_.'

As they left the slaves behind and entered what felt like a more residential part of the palace, Nox quickly started going over everything he'd learned about Volantis's ruling structure. '_They are rule by a Triarchy, three men from two different political stances. The Tigers and the Elephants. The Tigers are considered the 'old blood' and represent the more militaristic side of Volantis. While the Elephants favor trade and are backed by the merchants of the city. A representative of Westeros being presented to the Triarchs wouldn't be unheard of, but they care little for Westeros and consider the land a backwater. But I am not being brought to the Triarchs as a whole. Just one. The Tiger Maegyr. And with the amount of security and secrecy, he doesn't want my presence here with him to be general knowledge. Which means, he wants something. Well, if nothing else, this little excursion will certainly break up the boredom that months on the water has brought about_.'

Soon enough, his escort stopped outside a seemingly random and, frankly, ordinary looking door given the décor of the palace. Reaching out with his senses, he could sense only a single individual within. "Inside." The guard who'd asked for his weapon commanded, stepping aside as the rest of the guards took up positions outside the door. "We wait. Listen. Trouble start, you die."

"Fair enough," Nox acknowledged, pushing open the door and entering the room.

Just like the door, the room seem to go against the opulent nature of the rest of the palace. The room was small and sparsely furnished with plain-looking furniture. The center of the room was dominated by a table and sitting at the table across from the entrance was the only other occupant of the room. A glass pitcher of what looked like wine next to him and two glass cups, both filled, sitting before him. The man himself stood in stark contrast to the dull room. His robes were made of silk, inlaid with gold accents around the cuffs and collar. White streaks ran through his dark hair that was combed back and oiled down. And despite himself, Nox found himself taking a liking to the man. Not because of his looks, blindness did have its usefulness, but rather his presence in the Force. While not Force sensitive, the man had a commanding presence that Nox had only experienced a few times in his life. Primarily amongst the highest echelons of the Sith Imperial Military. This was a man who carved his own path. A man that Nox felt like he could come to respect.

"Lord Nox of Westeros," the man said, rising to his feet. His accent heavy even though his words were crisp and flowed as if he had always spoken the Westeros tongue. "The Northern Sorcerer, Scourge of the Iron Born and Breaker of the Greyjoys. Your reputation precedes you. I am Triarch Malaquo Maegyr of the Tigers. I welcome you to Volantis and thank you for coming on such short notice. I do hope my men were not too brash. They are loyal, but often times the Tiger Guards can lack the…subtly that is needed."

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Triarch Maegyr," Nox greeted back, inclining his head. "And do not worry, your men were completely professional. But I must admit that you have me at a disadvantage, Triarch. I was not aware that my name, nor that I would be here in Volantis, had reached your ears."

The Triarch smiled, a sense of not quite pleasure but close, raced through him. No doubt he was pleased at seemingly catching Nox off guard. "The Ironborn and their deeds are known across the world, Lord Nox. Hearing that you blackened their eyes and humiliated them brought more than a few smiles to more than a few merchants across Essos and even the Summer Islands." Pausing, the Triarch retook his seat, motioning for Nox before continuing. "And as for how I knew you would be here in Volantis, well, let us say that I have a few friends in Braavos that informed me of your presence and your possible destination."

Taking the offered seat, Nox met the man's gaze with his sightless one as the two sat across from one another. "And I take it that the reason that I am meeting you here in this seemingly infrequently visited part of the palace instead of the main reception room, and why your men brought me through what seemed to be an infrequently used entrance, and why the other two Triarchs are not present, is because you have something you wish to discuss with me and me alone. Something personal."

The Triarch's lips twitched as he pushed one of the chalices towards him. "I can appreciate a man with a direct approach such as yours. So much time spent taking in circles with the Elephants while trying to discern their plots within plots and games. It makes you truly appreciate the few times you can have an honest conversation with someone. And you are at least mostly correct. The reason I asked to speak with you is because of a rather…delicate situation I find myself in. A situation that, if handled incorrectly, could lead to a serious backlash not just for myself, but for my family as well."

Taking the offered cup, Nox paused as he let a gentle wave of the Force to saturate the wine, checking for anything nefarious. Finding none, he raised the cup and took a slight sip. "If my reputation has proceeded myself like you say, then you will know that I am not one for random acts of charity."

"You will be compensated, my Lord. Perhaps not in gold, but in something even more useful. Information."

Now Nox was intrigued. "You have my attention, Triarch."

Taking a small drink, the Triarch took a moment to collect himself. "Half a year ago, my family nearly experienced a great tragedy. My son and daughter were playing on the walls bordering the Rhyone River with some of their friends. My son, barely even a boy, slipped away from everyone while they were distracted. By the time anyone realized he was missing, he had fallen into the river and the current had swept him under. No one knew where he was, save for one… A slave of a fishing vessel who saw my son fall into the water. He dove in after him, pulled him out, and, once ashore, breathed life back into my son's lungs. However, that is when the true hardships began."

Leaning back, Nox idly swirled the contents of his glass. "I take it that in Volantis, it is against the law for a slave to put their hands on one of noble standing. And such an action carries a penalty of either the loss of said hand, or death. Am I correct?"

The Triarch nodded. "You are correct. Had the man been of free blood, I would've seen him and his family richly rewarded. But as he was a slave, I was forced to have him executed for not only laying his hands on my son, but for cracking his ribs as well, even though he did so in order to try and save my son's life. Had I not…"

"Then your opponents in the Elephants would've jumped on the political advantage and campaigned that you flaunted the law in favor of your own family," Nox finished for him. "My people have a saying for such an instance as the one you described. Stuck between a rock and a hard place."

"That saying is more apt than you might believe in this instance," the Triach agreed. "The Tigers pride themselves on following the law to the letter. Had I not executed the man, I would've lost respect and standing amongst my fellow Tigers and, as you mentioned, the Elephants would've jumped on the incident in an attempt to ostracize not only myself, but my family as well. My wife understood the situation, and thankfully my son is still too young to realize what all had happened. But the same cannot be said for my daughter. She was very vocal in her opposition to my handling of the situation. And now she means to take what she can and leave Volantis behind and strike out on her own. And short of locking her up in a prison, I fear there is nothing I can do to stop her."

Nox began putting the pieces together as to why he'd been summoned. But a nagging sensation in the back of his mind was telling him that he didn't have the whole picture yet. "And a ship that makes berth in northern Westeros, a land that is well known to have harsh laws _against_ slavery of any kind, would be the ideal ship for her to barter passage aboard. I take it that you wish for me to deny her said passage?"

Sighing, the Triarch downed his glass in a single go. "Unfortunately, no. If you were to deny her passage, my daughter will simply find another way to leave our shores. She's far too smart and resourceful for her own good sometimes. I wish for you to accept her onboard your vessel and see to it that she reaches the shores of Westeros in good health, and perhaps even introduce her to House Stark as well."

Nox scratched at his chin as a few more pieces fell into place. "And what do I get out of this? You say that you can't pay me in gold, but rather information? I take it that you know what my destination is, so I take it whatever information you have to trade regards Valyria in some form?"

"You are correct," the Triarch nodded as he reached down and brought forth a leather binder and set it on the table. "A century ago, the Triarchs of Volantis launched an expedition to Valyria in hopes of recovering some of the lost secrets of the Dragon Lords. The expedition was met with failure as not a single ship returned. However, that was merely the story the Tigers, and my family specifically, told the public. In truth, a single vessel returned from the Smoking Sea. The few men that managed to survive were mad, to say the least. They spoke of monsters that swam in the waters protecting the broken peninsula. Of Stonemen that attacked any boat that got too close to shore. And worsening nightmares as they drew closer to the heart of Old Valyria. Men driven mad by voices in the shadows. Beasts shaped like men but with little thought. Things that could make even a man's worst nightmare seem tame in comparison. Fearful of what the men had witnessed, and worried they would incite a panic, my ancestors had the crew killed to the last man and the ship sunk before reporting that there were no survivors. The only thing that survived the destruction was this…a single map that shows the route the ships managed to take to navigate through the Smoking Sea and the Broken Peninsula to the heart of Valyria. As payment for taking my daughter on your vessel and your guarantee of her safe passage and an introduction to House Stark, I offer you a copy of this chart."

It was all Nox could do to not allow his surprise to show on his face. Such a chart would be invaluable to him and the expedition. To be sure, he could use the Force to navigate through the Smoking Sea but having the chart would make such navigation much simpler. _'That chart is almost priceless in the right hands,_' Nox thought. _'And, certainly, worth the cost of passage on board the Sea Wolf. But it is almost—no, not 'almost'. It is overkill. His love for his daughter is as clear as day through the Force. But still… What isn't he telling me? The chart for passage and protection for a single individual and to introduce her to the Starks…oh, there it is. Now the pieces are in place_.'

Setting his glass down, he gave the Triarch a half grin. "Well played, Triarch Maegyr. Well played, indeed. For one who apparently despises the plots of the Elephants, this scheme of yours is one of the more well-crafted I have ever encountered. Well played, indeed."

He could feel the surprise race through the Triarch as the man drew himself straight. "I do not know what you mean."

"Yes, you do," Nox countered with a smile. "Your plan is incredibly well thought out. You will not only be able to recover your political position that is being threatened after the whole incident with the slave saving your son, but you will actually be able to enhance your position."

The Triarch's surprise turned to curiosity as the man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And what, pray tell, plot do you see in trying to ensure the safety of my daughter?"

Smirking, Nox went about laying out the man's plan. "You love your daughter, there is no doubt of that. I can hear it in your voice and see it through the Force. However, her open rebellion against the laws of Volantis have caused you and your family strife, politically speaking of course. But what would be worse than her outspoken views would be if it became common knowledge that she ran away from her family over a slave. That would certainly damage your reputation and no doubt ensure that you will never hold the Triarch seat again. And while you saw to it that this meeting between us would be confidential, my visit will become common knowledge soon enough, and the fact that I spoke with you in private. Combined with the fact that your daughter will be seen publicly leaving on a Westerosi vessel, the tale will spread that you sent her to Westeros, instead of her just running away. But that is only the beginning of your play. Once she is confirmed to be safe in Westeros and in the company of House Stark, word will spread about her location, either by your own mouth or through an intermediary. The only daughter of Triarch Maegyr of the Tigers not only in Westeros, but under the protection of House Stark, will cause more than a few brows to rise. Particularly in Myr, the only other competitor in the glass trade the North has."

Pausing, Nox let his words sink in before proceeding. "Of course, you have no intention of seeking a formal betrothal between your daughter and House Stark, but that doesn't matter. The mere fact that your daughter is in the North will be cause for concern for Myr, as they have lost almost all their business in Westeros to the North. And now even Braavos and Pentos are starting to import Northern glass. With your daughter in the North, and the 'knowledge' that she didn't run away of her own accord spread, Myr will naturally think that you are seeking to make some sort of trade agreement between Volantis and the North. In turn, they will no doubt be willing to renegotiate terms of their trade agreement with Volantis in the hopes of keeping your business. And with this new negotiation, you will be able to save the merchants and the nobles in the city hundreds of thousands over the years. And you, because of that, you will gain the grudging respect of the Elephants, as well as the continued respect of your own Tigers, thereby reaffirming you hold on your seat as one of the Triarchs of Volantis."

The Triarch remained silent throughout it all, his face completely passive, but his emotions anything but. By the time Nox had finished, the Triarch's emotions had ranged from surprised to angered before finally settling on impressed. "I must say, Lord Nox, your reputation failed to mention your mastery of the 'game', as the Westeros nobles like to call it. But I must ask, what gave me away?"

"For starters, the information you offered," Nox answered. "In short, you overpaid for your daughter's safe voyage. A lesser man might not look at such a gift with suspicion, but I have had experience with offers that seem too good to be true. Then there was also the insistence of your daughter's introduction to the Starks. Not to mention, this glass pitcher you have. I don't know how you got your hands on it, probably a trader from Braavos. But it is Northern glass. An odd piece to have, seeing as how Myr has tightened their hold over the glass trade south of the Stepstones in the past year. And your potential counter that you could not have thought of this so quickly went out the window the moment you informed me that you knew of my impending arrival after receiving said information from Braavos. Which would've given you a week or two at least to develop this plot. And, may I say, it is indeed a masterful play. Your daughter gets to live her life as she sees fit, your family's reputation gets repaired and even enhanced, and you get to hold onto your seat. As I said, masterful."

Refilling his glass, the Triarch smiled. "Impressive, Lord Nox, most impressive. But now you leave me in a quandary. Had you not laid out my plans before me, we would've gone our separate ways with no issue…but now…" Taking a sip, the Triarch sighed. "Killing you is out of the question. I've been caught in my own plot in that regards as I need you alive. Which means I need to buy your silence. Thankfully, I have one other piece of information that I believe will be enough to make sure that what was spoken here today remains between the two of us."

Downing his own glass, Nox fixed the Triarch with a grin. "Let's hear it."

"There are certain…individuals currently in Volantis that I believe you would be most interested in learning about, Lord Nox," Triarch Maegyr stated. "One of whom, just happens to be asking quite a few questions about you in particular."

* * *

Standing in a side street off of one of the many busy market streets of Volantis, Jon Snow slowly spun in a tight circle as he took in his surroundings as best he could with both his eyes and through the Force as his Master had instructed him. The voices of the merchants and citizens speaking in several tongues were so loud that he could barely even hear himself think. But despite the noise ringing in his ears, he was able identify a dozen armed guards, Tiger Guards he thought they were called, walking through the market on patrol. Their brightly polished armor shining in the midday sun. Though, those weren't the only guards, just the ones he could see with his eyes. Through the Force, he could sense another dozen men that were shadowing their armored counterparts through the crowded streets.

The formation of the guards seemed…odd to Jon. Why would they have one set in full plate armor and a second set following close behind in plain clothing that any common man would wear? '_Don't think like you would in the North, Jon_.' He remembered his Master telling him before they even stepped foot onto Essos soil. '_This is not the North. Not all men have honor like the Starks have. If anything, my travels have shown me that your family is more of an outlier than the norm. As much a shame as that is. So, if you see something you don't understand, think of it froma less…honorable manner_.'

Watching the guards, Jon tried to put into play what Nox had told him. '_The ones in front don't even have their hands on their weapons…and they're not making any strange movements…They're just…there. Almost as if they're trying to bait… Wait…could that be it?_' The more Jon thought about it, the more it made sense to him. The guards in front, while sticking out like a sore thumb, as Master Nox would say, did not have their weapons out or even have their hands on their weapons. And none of them seemed ready to respond to any attack. But the ones tailing behind, Jon could sense just how alert those men were. And that was the point. If there were any law breakers, they would see the guards in the front, purposefully. And they would miss the ones tailing behind. It was…strangely ingenious.

Letting his head fall back against the building he was leaning against, Jon let out a sigh. While watching the people of the city was interesting, if more than slightly disheartening considering the just how many slaves lived within the confines of Volantis's walls, that wasn't exactly why Jon was reaching out with his senses. No, he was reaching out through the Force to try and locate his Master Nox…or rather any of the Northmen that departed the ship and had tried to follow Nox. Why? Because Jon had become separated from that group and now…now he was utterly and completely lost!

He'd thought Braavos was large, and it certainly was. Nearly double the size of White Harbor, and the seat of House Manderly was the largest settlement in the Northern Kingdom. But Braavos completely dwarfed White Harbor, and Volantis was easily far larger than Braavos. Jon honestly couldn't understand just how, or why, so many people would choose to live so close to one another. In the North, such proximity was necessary to fight against the cold. But that wasn't an issue here. If anything, the people of Essos had the exact opposite problem in that it was far too hot in this land.

'_Enough, Jon,_' he scolded himself as removed himself from the wall and started walking down the alley way, his mind wandering slightly as he stretched out his senses, trying to find his Master or anyone from the North. '_This isn't time for sightseeing or wondering how so many people live so close to one another without having the city smell something awful. I need to fi- ouch!_'

Stumbling back a few steps, Jon blinked as he righted himself to see just what he'd run into. '_Running into someone…Master Nox is never going to let me live this…down_…' His thoughts faded as he spotted what, or rather whom, he'd run into. On the ground just before him was a young girl that was perhaps his own age at the oldest. With blond-silver hair and striking violet eyes.

"I – I'm sorry," Jon stammered while holding out his hand to help her up. "I – I didn't see you there. Here, let me help."

He just barely managed to suppress his wince from showing as he immediately felt a spike of fear roll off the girl as she unconsciously slid back slightly from his offered hand. Her eyes staring at him wide eyed and fearful. "I – I'm sorry," Jon said, lowering his hand slightly and trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "I didn't mean to scare you and I don't mean you any harm and…and you probably don't understand a word I'm saying…do you? I probably sound like a fool, don't I?"

"I – I speak the Common Tongue," the young girl said, slowly reaching out and taking his offered hand, shocking him in more ways than one. "And I don't think you sound like a fool."

Taking a hold of her hand, which he couldn't help but notice was very soft, Jon helped the young woman to her feet. '_She speaks the Common Tongue. Her hands have no calluses on them. And that dress looks like it cost a small fortune_,' he thought as the young woman brushed the dirt off her dress. '_She has to be a noblemen's daughter_.' "Are – Are you here alone, my lady?"

The young woman froze. "Um…no. I, uh…I'm here with my brother. We – We travel a lot. We have too. Ever since, well… We can't stay in one place for too long. Not without help."

It was obvious from her tone that she did not care for her current situation. And for some reason he felt some sort of…almost connection to the young woman before him. It was strange. He never felt this sort of…protectiveness before. Well, that's not true. He felt this way around Arya. But this young woman, she was a stranger to him, yet still he wanted – no, _needed_ – to help her. Almost as if she were kin. "I'm sorry to hear that, my lady. Is there anything I can do to help?"

The young girl looked surprised as a warm feeling flooded from her. But that warm sensation and her face fell immediately as Jon felt someone approaching them. "Dany! Where the fuck have you–?! Who the fuck are you to touch my sister?! Fucking peasant scum! Remove your hand or I will have it removed!"

Spinning on his heel, hand reaching for the small dagger, while unconsciously putting the young girl protectively behind him, Jon faced the source of the voice. The man had the same blond-white hair as the young girl, Dany he guessed her name was, and he had her same violet eyes. But that was where the similarities ended. At least to Jon and through the Force. Where the young girl – Dany – was obviously timid, there was a strength and compassion just under the surface. This man, however? The only word that Jon could think to describe what he felt was: putrid.

"Brother," The young – Dany, said warily. "I—"

"Enough! I care not for you excuses! Now come. We are leaving this infernal city and those pathetic fools who should've supported my claim with open arms!" The man nearly shouted, spittle flying from his lips as he reached out and roughly grabbed Dany by the arm and began pulling her along. "Come now! You don't want to wake the dragon, do you, sister? Then stop your sniffling and move!"

Jon's hand tightened on his dagger as he stepped forward to intervene. No brother should ever dare to treat his sister in such a way! He might not always get along with his trueborn siblings, but he would never dare even think of manhandling them in such a manner! He'd started to move, little more than a slight shifting of his weight, but he was stopped as Dany turned her violet eyes to him. She looked…resigned. Not only that, but her eyes were almost begging him to not do anything. As if she were afraid for him, rather than being afraid of what was happening to her. So despite wanting so very much to run his dagger into the man's heart and end his life, Jon forced himself to let go of his dagger and stand back as the man pulled Dany away from him before disappearing into the crowded street.

Even after they'd left, Jon wanted to go after them. He could sense her. He didn't know how or why, but if he closed his eyes he could easily point to where she was in the crowd. '_Why her?_' Jon thought, trying to fight against his urge to go after her. '_This isn't one of Sansa's silly stories where the knight swoops in and sweeps the maiden off her feet and they kiss. I don't want that…but I do want to protect her. But why her? I've seen something like that happen at every other street corner since I got lost in this city. But never once had I felt such a desire – no, need – to protect someone. Just what is ha—_'

Jon's world spun as he felt his legs go out from underneath him. His back hit the stone road hard, driving the air from his lungs as a boot came down on his throat. "Pathetic, acolyte. Having your head so far in the clouds you couldn't even sense my approach nor intent. Had I wished, you'd be dead right now and never even know it."

The boot left his throat, and Jon was left coughing as he tried to bring some air back into his lungs while looking up at the sightless face of his mentor. Even though the cloth covered his eyes, Jon could feel the disappointment in them at his pathetic display. "Sorry, Master," he coughed, rising to his feet.

Nox didn't offer to help him rise. Not that Jon had expected him too. If there was one thing that Nox could never be accused of, it was being soft to those who he deemed worthy of his time. He'd lost count of the number of times he, Robb, and even Theon could barely walk from the training grounds. Whether it be from pure exhaustion, or from the simple fact that the three had been beat so mercilessly that they could hardly walk without causing pain. He'd thought, along with the others, that Arya's addition to their training would soften the sorcerer slightly. But they'd been wrong. Nox hadn't relented just because Arya was with them. If anything, he grew more demanding. And what was the most embarrassing was the fact that it was his little sister, the She-Wolf Reborn as the people of Winterfell had taken to calling her, that was always the first to get back to her feet and ready to face the next challenge.

"Next time I won't be so lenient, acolyte."

"Yes, Master," Jon nodded, dusting himself off. "Where…Where were you, Master? Those men just took you and you…disappeared."

Motioning for him to follow, Master Nox turned and marched away, leaving Jon almost running to catch up as the two began weaving through the crowded streets. "The Triarch wished to speak with me. On what matter I will not say now. But his reasoning will become apparent to you soon."

"Yes, Master," Jon replied dutifully, before looking around and noticing that they were moving in the opposite direction of where Jon believed the harbor was located. "Um, where are we going, Master?"

Nox didn't spare him a glance, not that he could, nor did he break his stride. "Apparently, there is someone who wishes to meet with me here in Volantis. Someone who has been trying to dig into my past. So, we're going to meet him. For now, you will stay in my shadow and be quiet and observe. And don't even think that I have forgotten about your lack of self-awareness just a few minutes ago. We will be discussing that, at length. And I doubt you will be making the same mistake twice."

Jon could only gulp as he dutifully followed the sorcerer through the crowded streets, fearful of just what sort of twisted and no doubt painful lesson Nox would have in store for him later. '_I should've just gone after that girl_.'

* * *

Coming upon the place that'd been given to him by the Triarch, Nox paused outside the building as he realized just where he'd been sent. Which was more than slightly obvious given that some of the 'wares' were out on nearly full display on the street near the entrance. '_I take it this was a joke that the Triarch decided to play on me_.' The brothel, for that was exactly what the establishment here was, was quite immaculate. He could tell that all the women and men that were posing and showing off their offerings were well taken care of. Then there was the structure itself. Open and spacious, golden and glass drinking pitchers scattered throughout the main reception hall. All in all, this establishment obviously catered towards the Lords and Ladies of the land rather than the poor.

While Nox had no qualms about entering such an establishment, the same could not be said for his young acolyte by his side. "Um, Master Nox…This…This place –"

"Is a brothel, Jon." Nox replied, turning his head towards the young man. "And what of it?"

Jon was practically shaking in place as he pointedly looked everywhere besides at the workers of the brothel. "Won't…Um, won't Lady Nyra be upset with you, um, visiting a place like this?"

"Yes, but only if I came to such an establishment looking to partake in the services offered," Nox replied. "Now, control yourself, Jon. Think of this as a test. I've known women fighters who went as far as flashing their tits at their adversary in order to gain an advantage. I'm not saying that such a thing will happen to you, but you must be ready for anything and everything. Which means getting over this hang up you have with the fairer gender. And before you start trying to deny my words, don't. I can sense your emotions probably better than you can. And, in case you forgot, we share a cabin and you talk in your sleep…Dacey and Asha at the same time, huh? Quite the imagination you have."

He didn't need to see to know that Jon's face had gone red from his neck to the roots of his hair. Chuckling, he turned heel and marched into the main reception hall of the brothel and walked up to a woman standing near a desk who was bent over a book with a quill daftly scribbling notes on the page. Once Nox and the still blushing Jon, reached the desk the woman looked up, a smile plastered across her face as she started talking in High Valyrian. "_Greetings my Lord, welcome to…Oh…Another blasted mummer looking for a free lay_."

Tilting his head, Nox regarded the woman before him through the Force. '_Arrogance. Anger. Annoyance. All wrapped into one_.' "Forgive me, but my High Valyrian is not that good. But did you just refer to me as a mummer for some reason?"

The madam of the brothel scoffed and shook her head before waving her hand. "_At least the foolish mummers that came before you at least had the decency to learn a civilized tongue before trying to get a free lay. And while you may make a decent replication of the Northern Sorcerer, the Chosen of the Lord of Light, that does not entitle you to free services. Now pay like everyone else, or my two guards behind you will remove you from my establishment_."

Nox could sense the two men that'd quietly made their way behind himself and Jon. Each were taller than Nox by at least a head and were twice as thick. Both physically and mentally judging by the quick pass Nox did over each man. By his side, he could sense Jon tighten, ready to pounce at a moment's notice if need be. "I assure you madam, I am no mummer. And I am not here to partake in your establishment's specialty. I'm merely here seeking one of your patrons."

The madam's annoyance only grew with his words. "That information is privileged, foreign mummer. Now if you aren't here to partake, then leave. Time is coin, and I have no desire to waste more speaking with the likes of you. Remove him."

"Very well," Nox sighed, "I guess we do this the hard way then."

Closing his hand, Nox raised his left hand. Cries of alarm sounded with the unmistakable sensation of fear as the two towering guards were lifted into the air by an invisible Force. Both men clutching at their throats as they desperately tried to breathe through Nox's hold on them. Keeping them aloft for a moment, Nox waited until he had everyone's attention before throwing both men through one of the columns in the room, shattering bone and stone as the two men went clean through the pillar. Sensing another guard rushing at him, his right hand moved with a motion honed from years of training as he effortlessly summoned his lightsaber into his right hand and igniting the blade. The man, seeing the sudden appearance of his lightsaber, tried desperately to halt his advance, but his size and momentum worked against him and without even having to move, Nox took the man's right arm clean from his shoulder as the guard passed him by.

Bringing his lightsaber forward, Nox held the humming blade in front of the madam of the brothel. "Now, shall we try this again? Or do I need to make more examples of your guards?"

Instead of answering, the madam of the brothel completely floored Nox as she nearly ran around counter she was standing behind and threw herself at his feet. Prostrating herself and refusing to look up at him. "Chosen of R'hllor…I beg your forgiveness, my Lord! I never thought you would ever step foot in my establishment. Please, forgive my ignorance! If you wish, I will have a dozen of my best girls, or boys, ready and willing to serve your every whim, regardless of what that might be."

Deactivating his lightsaber, Nox flipped the hilt around and tucked the weapon back into the folds of his robe. Expanding his senses, he absorbed everything in the immediate vicinity of himself and Jon. The madam's anger and arrogance were long gone. Replaced with a tremendous amount of fear and awe. As if she were both delighted and scared shitless at his mere presence. And she wasn't the only one. Most of the patrons and workers of the brothel were in similar states as the madam. Many of whom had dropped to their knees and had their heads bowed low.

'_Well, fuck_,' Nox cursed. Having been the figurehead for a cult on Nar Shaddaa, he could easily recognize the sudden shift in the room regarding his presence. These people worshiped him. Useful, but dangerous as well. Devotees like these were useful, but one needed to handle them with care as their devotion often blinded them and made them more trouble than they were worth. '_Followers of the Red God, R'hllor. I was mostly sure that the Triarch was overstating my standing amongst the Followers of this Red God. But, apparently, he was actually understating things._' Nox thought, trying to plan out his next few moves carefully._ 'Perhaps I should've talked with that Red Priest, Thoros, more during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Perhaps then I would understand more on just why these people seem to think I'm their messiah_.'

"Rise," Nox commanded, prompting almost the whole room to immediately rise to their feet. "There is no need for you to kneel before me now. And while your offer is enticing, I will have to pass. I am not here seeking the pleasures of the flesh. Rather, I am here to speak with someone. A Westerosi man who is asking question about me specifically. I'm sure I don't need to tell you more than that, madam."

The madam, who'd quickly rose to her feet at his command, nodded. "Yes, Chosen One, I know who you speak of. However, he and his companion arrived just before you and your…ward. And requested the services of some of my best. I can disturb them, however, if you wish."

Shaking his head, Nox waved off her recommendation. "There is no need. However, I would like a quiet place to sit and relax while I wait for your guest and his companion to finish."

"Of course, Chosen One. I have the perfect room for you and your ward. And I will send word to the one you wished to speak to that you desire a meeting when he is finished." The madam nodded before turning her head and speaking in High Valyrian. "Slave! Bring the Chosen of R'hllor to the best resting room and see to any needs he and his ward might have! And be quick about it or I'll see you sent down to the brothel at the docks!"

A young girl with black hair and sun-kissed skin with a single large red teardrop tattooed beneath her right eye stepped forward, her eyes cast firmly downwards. "May…I escort you…my Lord?"

Staring at the young woman, Nox felt the familiar knot form in his gut whenever he was face to face with a slave. Having been a slave for a good portion of his youth and having experienced the cruelty of such a position, his views of slavery were not favorable. But at the same time, life within the Sith Empire had forced him to accept the reality of slavery. So, while he hated the practice, he was accepting of it. A contradiction to be sure, but one that he could not help. But perhaps…there was an opportunity… It would take some time…but with his apparent standing amongst the faith of this land and the moves he'd already begun to perform… Perhaps he could gain something similar to his Screaming Blade Cult from Nar Shaddaa before he left Volantis's shores in a few days.

"Please do," Nox nodded, motioning for Jon to follow. "Come on, Jon. Keep your head on straight and your mind open. Try not to get too distracted by what you're about to see and hear."

Walking through the brothel was…interesting, to say the least. While he couldn't see them physically, Nox wasn't immune from the Force sight of women and even some men running from room to room nearly or completely naked. And then were the noises emanating from the rooms, needless to say the sights and sounds more than slightly distracting. But where Nox was able to ignore the sights and sounds, Jon was not. The young man was completely flushed as he kept his eyes firmly trained on the floor as they walked. But that still didn't help. And his emotions were going crazy with all of the lust and desire nearly overriding his senses. '_Hmm, not good,_' Nox thought, an idea of a new training regime coming to mind. '_It would definitely test the acolytes' abilities to stay focused… But I doubt Lord Stark, let alone Lady Stark, would agree to having a few whores going at it on the sidelines while the boys and Arya went through their daily training regime_.'

Coming upon their room, the slave opened the door and dutifully stood off to the side to allow them to enter before her. The room looked as if it would cost a small fortune to rent out. Spacious with several couches with silk coverings and pillows scattered throughout and a balcony that gave one an almost perfect view of the Rhyone River and the soon to be setting sun. But that wasn't all that there was to the room. The moment he had stepped in, the noise of the brothel had almost completely disappeared. '_Interesting. They actually figured out a means of soundproofing a room_.'

Without uttering a word, the slave girl went about preparing the room for the two of them. Setting out cups and placing a pitcher nearby, even fluffing the pillows and straightening the silk sheets as well. After a minute of her moving about the room, the slave girl meekly stood before him. Excitement and desire coursing through her. "Is there…anything else this one…can do for the Chosen of R'hllor? This one is…yours to use."

"No," he stated, placing a finger under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. "Thank you, but we would like some privacy until our guest arrives. I will send my compliments of your service to your madam."

The girl preened under the praise before swiftly curtsying so low she nearly touched the floor and scampering off. Now alone with Jon, Nox sat down on one of the couches and took one of the cups and the pitcher. "Have a seat, Jon." Nox ordered, taking a whiff of the liquid inside the pitcher, a very fruity wine, and pouring himself a glass. "We have a bit to discuss."

Jon, finally getting a hold of himself, took the seat across from Nox. "Yes, Master Nox. Umm, what, uhh – "

"Enough stammering, Jon." Nox demanded, cutting his acolyte off. "You need to control yourself better than this."

Swallowing, Jon nodded. "I'll try."

Flicking his fingers, Nox sent a small burst of the Force at Jon, slapping upside the back of his head. "What have I said about 'trying'?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Jon looked down at the floor. "That if you try, you will fail. There is no try. You either do, or you do not."

"Correct," Nox nodded, leaning back and taking a savoring sip of the fine wine. "So, tell me. What just occurred that seemed odd."

He could almost see the gears turning in his young acolyte's head as he ran the last few moments through his head. "The people here, they…almost seem to worship you."

"Not almost, they _do,"_ Nox countered, his own thoughts wandering on the situation he suddenly found himself in. "They seem to have concluded that I am their god's 'Chosen One'. And therefore, I am basically the living embodiment of the Red God in their eyes."

"Why?" Jon asked, leaning forward. "I didn't think you worshiped the Red God…or any of the gods for that matter."

"I don't," Nox nodded. "I follow the will of the Force, which can be argued to be the will of the gods if you wanted to be philosophical about it, but that is not the point. Think. Why would the followers of the Red God think that I am some 'Chosen' of their god?"

Jon stared off towards the balcony watching over the city. "I…I don't know."

"Apparently, I need to have you start spending more time in the library with your friend, Samwell, instead of spending so much time in the training yard. Or perhaps you believe that since something is not native to the shores of Westeros, that it is no concern of yours, hmm?" Nox sighed, making Jon recoil in on himself. "But to save you from further embarrassing yourself, I'll educate you this time. The Red Priests are known to perform feats of magic, akin to what you and your kin can do. But unlike myself and those I train; the Red Priests and Priestess do not believe that their power comes from the Force. Rather, they believe that the power they wield is a gift from their God. Compared to us, their acts of magic are mere parlor tricks and they know it. And before you ask, I had a few conversations with a Red Priest that was in accompaniment of King Robert during the Greyjoy Rebellion. And he told me himself, that no Red Priest or Priestess in all of their history even wielded a fraction of the power I have."

"So, because you can use the Force and you're far more powerful than them, they believe that power is because their god gifted it to you?" Jon half questioned half stated.

"Is it really such a strange concept?" Nox asked, trying to open his young acolyte's mind more. "Many in the North believe that I, yourself, and your Stark kin have been blessed by the Old Gods. And there are rumblings south of the Neck that perhaps the Seven blessed the Starks for Lord Stark taking a faithful Andal wife. People often look for simple explanations to that which they do not understand. And religion, no matter the place, can offer those answers. But I do not believe that it is my power alone that has driven the followers of the Red God to believe I am some 'Chosen One'. No, I believe that is because of something else, along with my power. My lightsaber."

At this, the look of understanding on Jon's face quickly vanished. "Your lightsaber? Why would that make people believe you are some god's chosen one?"

Wetting his lips, he swirled the wine around in the glass. "It has to do with one of the more infamous stories within the religion of R'hllor. The story of Azor Ahai, if I pronounced that correctly. Long and short of it, he was some figure in history who apparently defeated a great darkness by wielding a sword called 'Lightbringer'. The blade was said to glow red and carried the heat of Azor Ahai's lover within. The blade could burn through any armor and cut any enemy down. And was the only weapon that could defeat the great evil Azor Ahai fought against. And the followers of R'hllor believe that one day, their ancient savior will return and with him Lightbringer will come forth once more to defeat a new great evil. Whether the tale is true or not, we may never know. But the followers of the Red God believe it to be so. So, can you see how my lightsaber might be the fabled Lightbringer?"

"So, the people who follow this Red God believe that you are some promised champion destined to lead them in battle against some great evil?" Jon pieced together. "But…how do you know all of this? I didn't think that the library of Winterfell had any books or scrolls that tell of this Red God."

"I know because, unlike some, I take the time to study any land that I am about to venture into," Nox said, fixing his acolyte with an accusing sightless look that had the young man squirming in his seat. "But you are right. There are very few tomes in Winterfell that have details on the different religions or histories of any land outside of Westeros. But while we were in Braavos, I procured several books and have spent our time since learning all I could. Now, I believe that will conclude this lesson. Our guest is about to arrive. While he is here, keep your mouth shut unless asked something specific and watch carefully. Perhaps you might learn something."

The words were just passed his lips when the door to their sitting room was flung open, allowing their guest to march in. His tunic was unbuttoned, and his breathing labored slightly as sweat still clung to his skin. The man's presence in the Force was not necessarily what Nox was expecting. It was refined. This was a man who, despite his being born into privilege, worked hard to refine his skills and it showed. But with that refinement came a degree of…arrogance. The man was good, and he knew it. And just behind the man was a woman who was still in the process of arranging her dress as she labored to keep up with her lover.

He could feel the man assessing the room the moment he walked in. He acknowledged Jon's presence, but seemed to dismiss him quickly enough as his attention landed on Nox. "I must say, a brothel in Volantis is the last place I ever expected to make your acquaintance, Sorcerer Nox."

Rising to his feet, he motioned for Jon to do the same. "Usually, you would be correct, Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne," Nox greeted the man, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement. "As for yourself, given your reputation, the largest and best brothel in a city would always be the first place I would come looking for you."

He could feel the Prince's amusement flutter. "Well, I suppose that I could ask why you have sought me out, but that would just be insulting a man of your intellect. So, I'll skip that part and proceed straight to who your young companion is. He's pretty enough, but certainly not a pleasure boy."

"This is Jon Snow of House Stark." Nox said, motioning for Jon to take a step forward and properly greet the Prince of Dorne. "And my acolyte in the Force."

Oberyn's curiosity spiked, as did that of his companion's. "Lord Stark's bastard son?" he questioned, making Jon flinch at the title, which Oberyn noticed. "Did I offend you boy? It was not my intent. In Dorne, being a bastard does not hold the same stigma that it does in the rest of Westeros. Indeed, in Dorne, bastards are viewed as those who were born from moments of intense passion and are treated just like they were trueborn. In fact, I have six bastard daughters, and a seventh on the way, all of whom I love fiercely. One of whom is even in the city with us now. Enjoying her own entertainment in the fighting pits, no doubt. And this lovely woman by my side here is my paramour, Ellaria Sand, daughter of House Uller and mother to two, soon to be three, of my lovely bastards."

"My lady," Nox greeted the woman, taking her offered hand and pressing his lips to the back of her hand. "I might not be able to see you as your lover does, but your spirit and strength shines through the Force with a brilliant vibrance."

"Thank you, my Lord," Ellaria greeted back, her voice soft, warm, and almost flirtatious. "I must say, if Oberyn hadn't just finished showing me such a wonderful time, I would be tempted to see if the…rumors regarding your vitality are indeed true."

"A tempting offer," Nox smiled. It was indeed a tempting offer. The woman was beautiful in the Force. But she didn't hold a candle to Nyra or Ashara. "But I'm afraid that I have a paramour of my own waiting for me back in the North. And should I make such an indulgence without her presence or consent, I fear I will be eligible to join the Unsullied."

"Well, we can't have such a fine man like yourself fall to such a fate," Oberyn laughed. "So, perhaps Ellaria and I will have to venture North one of these days and see if we can tempt you and your paramour into a night of debauchery unlike any the North has ever seen."

"Perhaps, one day," Nox chuckled. "But let us leave such talks for a later time. Or else I fear my innocent acolyte here will die from embarrassment."

"Very well," Prince Oberyn agreed, taking one of the couches across from Nox and pulling his paramour into his lap. "Dare I ask why you have called me out? Outside of the obvious, of course."

Taking his seat, he motioned for Jon to sit down as well. Holding out his hand, he used the Force to float two more cups from the rack near the wall towards him before filling both glasses with the sweet wine and floating both over to Oberyn and Ellaria. "Well, I was curious as to how your search for information on me has been going so far. Call it…professional curiosity if you will. And please, there is no need to go for that poisoned dagger on the small of Ellaria's back. Before it could even leave your fingers, I would have it buried in your throat."

Oberyn's amusement jumped even as the woman on his lap froze with a spike of fear. "Well, you can hardly blame a man for being careful, can you?" Pulling his hand out from behind Ellaria's back, Oberyn produced a small finger length blade and tossed it off to the side. "Doubt it would even be of any use against you."

"One never knows," Nox shrugged. "But, as I've learned throughout my life, it is better to err of the side of caution. You tend to live longer."

"Wise words," Oberyn nodded. "So, tell me sorcerer, what brings one such as you all the way out to Volantis. As flattered as I am that you called on me, I don't think you made the trip all the way around the Free Cities just looking for me. And I doubt you are here simply for pleasure, nor are you here to negotiate some sort of trade deal with the Triarchs given how far Volantis is from the North, which means… Ah! Interesting. You're here to mount an expedition to Valyria. Bold of you, sorcerer."

"I see your time in the Citadel was time well spent," Nox nodded, motioning for Jon to remain still as he sensed the spike of surprise and fear emanating from his acolyte. '_He needs to control his emotions more. Fuck, I'm sounding like a Force-damned Jedi_.' "You are correct, Prince Oberyn. The _Sea Wolf_ will be here for three days only to resupply. And then I, along with a coalition of Northern volunteers, will enter Valyria with the purpose of discovering some of the lost secrets of the Valyrian Empire."

"Well, that is quite the ambitious adventure you have set your sights on, sorcerer," Oberyn smirked, his hands idly running up and down the sides of his paramour, who'd gained a worried feel to her. And it was the feeling coming off her and Oberyn that left no doubt in Nox's mind what the wayward prince was about to ask for.

"Before you ask, Prince Oberyn," Nox said, raising his hand and catching the prince just before he could ask his question. "There is still room on the _Sea Wolf_ for yourself, your paramour, and yes, even your daughter. You will all have to share a single cabin of course. But if you wish to join the expedition, then as Lord Stark's appointed representative, I hereby welcome you aboard."

Oberyn seemed to be simultaneously caught off guard and pleased with his offer. "And what is your price for allowing me and mine to accompany you, sorcerer?"

"Obedience," Nox answered back immediately, holding up his hand to forestall the Prince's kneejerk reply. "Not indefinitely. Just for the duration of your time onboard the _Sea Wolf_. I say jump, you jump. Second, we will not be returning to Volantis. So whatever vessel that brought you here will need to return without you, hopefully to your brother with an explanation as to your absence. Third, while you will be allowed to keep some of what is taken from Valyria, I must approve of you taking it before you do so, if only for your own safety. If you can agree to all of that, then you will be a welcome addition to the crew."

To his credit, Oberyn appeared to be considering the offer for all of a few seconds. "For the chance to explore Valyria…those terms are acceptable, sorcerer. You have my spear until you bring myself, my daughter, and my love here back to Dorne."

"Excellent," Nox said, rising to his feet and motioning for Jon to follow suit. "We cast off in three days, Prince Oberyn. I trust you will be able to find ways to amuse yourself before we leave."

"Oh, I'm sure that I can find a way, sorcerer," Oberyn called out to the two of them laughingly as they left the Prince of Dorne in the sitting room.

"Master," Jon said lowly as the two of them made their way out of the brothel, pausing only to thank the madam who nearly curtsied to the floor. "What was the purpose of all of that?"

"Partially, to gain the alliance of a strong fighter, Jon," Nox answered as the two weaved their way through the packed streets back towards the harbor. "Prince Oberyn's skill on the field is known throughout the realm. He is considered on the same level as the former Sword of the Morning as well as Ser Barristan the Bold. Such a man will be useful if we run into any problems. And besides his skill with a blade, the man's mind is incredibly keen when not clouded with emotion. And it never hurts to have an outsider's view on something. This will also serve to strengthen Northern ties to the Dornish, who have quickly become one of our premiere trading partners for raw materials. Lastly, we will be here for three days, acolyte. There is no doubt in my mind that the Prince would've learned of our presence in such time and come to us. If he had, he would've been ready for us and we would've been on the backfoot. But by coming to him in such a way…"

"We put _him_ on the backfoot," Jon finished the thought. "And with your quick offer before he could ask, you surprised him enough that he would agree to your terms before fully thinking them over."

"Very good," Nox congratulated his acolyte. "Perhaps you are truly listening to my lessons, after all. Now, Jon, tell me about this young woman and the man that you ran into in the street. The blond one that is currently dominating almost all of your thoughts."


	10. The Valyria Expedition Part 2

**Well, back again! Managed to get this one in…four weeks, I think? I've been trying to squeeze in writing at least 5k words a week, or 1k a day during the weekdays (when I have the most time for writing funnily enough). Hoping that this pace is, well, slow enough so that I can keep regular updates coming at least once a month or so.**

**Want to say a huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted or added this story to your favorites. I really appreciate it. I did get a question (I get a lot of these) if I will be including lemons/smut scenes in this story. I will say that, given my own preference for writing and FFnet's rules regarding such things (even if they aren't really enforced) there will not be any explicit scenes in this story. I prefer to leave that kind of stuff up to your imagination. I'm not against those scenes at all, but honestly…I'm not good at writing them lol. If there is a demand for them though…I might set up a side story on AO3 which would just have explicit exerts.**

**Lastly, I do not own ASOIAF or SW. If I did…well I wouldn't need to work my ass off 50+ hours a week lol. And a big thank you to my beta reader and brainstorm partner for this story, Tellemicus Sundance. Hope that you all enjoy and please leave a review if you feel so inclined! **

**Chapter 10**

Taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, Jon Snow took a deep breath. He was desperately trying to get enough air back into his lungs as he bent down at the knees and slid his fingers underneath a large crate. In fact, by all rights, it should have been carried by no less than two grown men. Slowly starting to lift it alone, he leaned back to try and balance the heavy crate full of only gods knew what. But, no, his Master did not see it that way. In his own words, _'I've been neglecting your training,acolyte'_. His master had stated this morning, _'So, now we will rectify that. You will help with preparations for the Sea Wolf's departure. And you shall do so on your own, with no help from the rest of the crew_.'

Managing only a few dozen steps, Jon stopped just short of the gangplank, nearly dropping the crate in the process at the edge of the dock. Gasping desperately, Jon stared up the length of the gangplank, dreading the march before him. It was the fourth such trip he'd be making with the same sized crate this morning. And the trips were not getting any easier with each successive time.

Resting his hands on the crate, Jon took a quick look around the dock, taking note of the sailors and slave dock workers that were helping to load the last of the supplies Nox and Ser Manderly had ordered before they set out of what was without a doubt, the longest and most daunting part of the expedition. Watching the men work, Jon took note of those who were not present to help with the last loading of the ship, which were quite a few. Most namely Asha, Dacey, Small Jon, Eddard Karstark, and, most importantly, his own Master Nox.

The fact that Master Nox was not around was not necessarily surprising. The Northern Sorcerer had been rather, well, absent ever since they arrived in Volantis two days ago. For the past two mornings he would leave the _Sea Wolf_ early in the morning before the sun rose and would not return till after the sun had set in the evening. No one, not even Jon, knew where he was constantly disappearing too. Though, truth be told, no one wanted to find out either. Nox, while a good man and one to be admired and idolized, was not one to go easy on anyone who tried to get in his way. The only time Jon had seen him in the city over the past two days was when he returned to the brothel housing Prince Oberyn at Ser Manderyl's request to deliver a message to the Prince of Dorne about their departure. Jon was sure that the knight of House Manderly had done this on purpose just to get a response out of Jon, which he succeeded in as Jon could hardly keep his the flush from his face for the rest of the day after several whores who'd seen him with Nox offered him some…varied services. But it was on this trip that Jon had spotted Nox in the city, sitting at an outdoor eating area and talking to a…Septa for some strange reason. But before Jon could meet up with his Master, Nox was gone and so too was the woman he was talking with. Strange.

The fact the others, a good portion of the crew, were missing this morning was not really a mystery either. When Nox wasn't in the city, he was in his quarters with Jon, Asha and Ser Manderly going over their approach to Valyria with the new information his Master had apparently acquired from one of the Triarchs of the city. The night before they'd finally settled on a course of action and this morning Nox had called the entire crew out onto the deck while the sun was still below the horizon.

When the entire crew had gathered Lord Nox had not minced words with them. He told the crew that they would be sailing around the southern tip of the Valyria peninsula and approaching the ruined city using a river that should lead directly to the heart of Valyria. However, they would not be able to take the _Sea Wolf_ down the river due to the ship's sheer size and fear of running aground and being stranded. So, they would be taking the six lifeboats up the river, and that he needed volunteers who were willing to brave the dangers and potentially give their very lives to reach Valyria. At first, no one moved. But then Asha stepped forward, followed by Dacey, Small Jon and Eddard. With the nobles setting the example, it was a relatively short time before enough volunteers had stepped forward. Once he'd had enough volunteers, Ser Manderly being the only noble who had not volunteered due to him needing to captain the return voyage should anything go wrong, Nox dismissed the rest of the crew that had not volunteered.

The sorcerer had then walked up to the forty or so men and women who had volunteered to put their very lives on the line and handed each two gold dragons. _'This might be the very last time any of you see civilization again_.' Lord Nox had explained to them all. _'No one knows what awaits us in Valyria. But be sure that everything that walks, swims, crawls and shits in Valyria will want to kill you in the most painful way possible. And know that should you fall behind; you will be left behind. And should you become a liability and put the rest at risk, I will kill you myself. Those of you willing to accept this, take two steps forward_.'

The volunteers all stepped forward twice without hesitation. _'Good. Then take those gold dragons in your hand and live your lives tonight as if they might be your last. Because they very well might_.'

Jon had wanted to head off into the city with the rest of the men and women, but Lord Nox had held him back, saying that he was still a bit too young for what the rest of them would be getting up to this night. And had instead assigned Jon with the daunting task of helping to load the _Sea Wolf_…without help.

Shaking his head, Jon squatted down and moved his fingers underneath the edge of the crate once more, ready to make yet another trek up the gangplank. "Excuse me, are you a cabin boy for this vessel?"

Jon nearly dropped the crate on his toes. Biting back the curse that was threatening to leave his lips at having nearly broken something, Jon turned around and – froze. Standing just behind him, her eyes wide was an incredibly beautiful girl with the sun-kissed skin that was so common here in Volantis. Shaking his head to clear it, Jon stood up fully and face the girl who couldn't have been more than a year or two older than himself. The first thing he noticed, besides her beauty, was that she was free of any marks – tattoos – on her face, which meant she wasn't a slave. And given her dress and the way she held herself, Jon was willing to bet that she was of noble birth. And with the large rucksack slung across her back that was nearly as big as her upper half, she was looking to get away from this city for some time.

"Aye," Jon nodded. "Not a cabin boy, though. But I came on the _Sea Wolf_."

The woman nodded. "_Sea Wolf_. This is a Westeros vessel, is it not?"

"Aye."

The woman seemed to sag with relief. "Tell me, does the Northern Sorcerer ride this vessel? And if so, would it be possible to meet with himself or the captain? I wish to barter passage to Westeros."

Jon blinked. Then blinked again. Then had to keep himself from laughing outright. _'How Master Nox can predict these things… By the gods. One day, I can only hope to be half as smart as him. Either that, or he has some…what did he call it? Inside information?_' It'd been just this morning, after dismissing those who'd be accompanying them into Valyria, that Nox pulled Ser Manderly and himself aside and informed them that a young woman would be coming to them today seeking passage to Westeros. And that she was to be given it.

"Of course, my lady," Jon said as politely as he could through his exhaustion. "If you'll follow me, I'll bring you to Lord Nox."

The young woman seemed surprised that her request had been granted so quickly. And the relief she felt was so thick and obvious that Jon could sense it easily through the Force. Taking her hand and leading her up the gangplank, Jon brought the young woman to Nox's cabin and, after knocking twice and waiting for his command to enter, brought her before his Master. Within his cabin, Nox was where he usually was. Sitting at one end of his table with a book in one hand and the fingers of the other gliding along the written words on the pages. How he managed to read without the use of his eyes was a skill Jon knew he would never be able to figure out. But Nox could read faster than any man he'd ever known. He swore his Master could go through a book a day, and that was a low estimate.

"Master Nox," Jon said, drawing a sharp look and spike of disapproval from the young woman. "This is, um…gods…I apologize. I never even asked for your name, my lady."

"Talisa," the newly named Talisa said simply, providing no family name, while glaring at Nox. "And I thought Westeros had laws against slavery?"

"It does," Lord Nox responded. "Quite harsh laws, in fact. And before this misunderstanding can continue, Jon is not my slave. He is my acolyte. My student. I am the Master and he is the learner."

Talisa seemed taken aback as she looked back and forth between Nox and Jon. "I apologize, my Lord. I did not mean to give offense."

"Yes, you did," Nox cut back, setting the book down. "And it's understandable. But rest assured, young lady. I know what it means to be under the whip. And I can guarantee you, I gladly follow the Westeros law on the matter. But that is neither here nor there, which is why I have taken no action during our stay here. Now, perhaps we could come to the matter of why the daughter of the Tiger Triarch Maegyr has come to a Westeros vessel with what looks like as many possessions as she could safely pilfer from her family home."

Shock ran through Jon as his head whipped around to Talisa. He knew of the Triarchs, the rulers of the City of Volantis. And this young woman was the daughter of one of them?! Why would she want to leave? And why was Master Nox dragging this out? He already informed Jon and Ser Manderly that he intended for her to come along with them.

As for herself, Talisa seemed to be on the backfoot as her face had gone slightly pale. "I – I have had disagreements with my father as of late and I…I wish to leave Volantis behind and start a new life for myself. Free of slavery. I can promise you that my father will not send men after me! And—And I have not 'pilfered' anything from my family's home that was not mine! You need not fear any retribution for taking me along."

"I see," Nox nodded, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. "So, say we take you with us. How do you intend to pay for passage? And what do you intend to do once we arrive at Westeros? Bringing the daughter of a Triach across the Narrow Sea is one thing. Leaving her to fend for herself and possibly get brutalized is quite another."

"I have coin to barter passage," Talisa quickly responded. "Enough to afford passage onboard any vessel and then some. I am also willing to offer my services as a healer in training to the men aboard the ship during your voyage. And…I know you are heading to Valyria, my Lord. And while I may not know a lot about the home of the lost Dragon Lords, I believe I can potentially offer some insight."

As Talisa made her offer, his Master just continued to stare off into the distance with his unseeing eyes. "Very well."

"I can also provide my services in translating an – wait…Did you say—?"

"I said that you can join us, Lady Talisa Maegyr." Master Nox repeated. "Though you will be sharing a cabin with two other ladies during the voyage. I hope that is not an issue as our space, despite the size of the _Sea Wolf_, is limited."

"Of course not, my Lord," Talisa smiled, a spark of hope swelling within her like a warm sunrise. "Thank you, my Lord. I promise you won't regret this."

"I'm sure I won't," Master Nox responded, a cryptic smile on his face. "Now, if you please, I have a feeling that my acolyte would like a word with me in private."

"Of course, my Lord," Talisa bowed before turning to him. "Thank you, Acolyte Jon. I look forward to speaking with you more once we are on the open water and Volantis is to our backs."

After she left, Jon turned to his Master. "Can you see it, Jon?" His Master asked before he could say anything. "Put the pieces together. All the clues are there."

Frowning, Jon thought deeply on everything that had happened since they'd arrived in Volantis. Nox's disappearances. Being pulled away from the ship by the Tiger Guards the moment they made port. The information he suddenly got regarding Valyria. And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit him. "The Triarch." Jon stated, glancing up at his Master. "It was the Triarch who gave you all the information about Valyria. And—And the price of the information was that we have to give his daughter passage to Westeros."

Leaning back in his seat, Nox slowly and lightly began to clap his hands together. "Not bad, acolyte. You arrived at that conclusion quicker than I thought. Perhaps you have been paying more attention to my lessons, outside of combat, than I originally thought."

Jon felt both delighted at the praise and insulted at the backhanded compliment. But that was just Master Nox. "But why would he want to let his daughter go? Even going so far as to pay for her passage away from her home?"

"When you figure that out, acolyte, I will be truly impressed," Nox commented as he picked up his book once more. "Now, don't you have more crates to load up? I believe you are on your fourth crate."

Jon's mood immediately dropped. "Yes Master."

"Best get back to it then," Nox said, flipping open his book. "But why you are simply using brute strength instead of the Force is just plain stupid, if you ask me."

Jon had taken a single step towards the door before his master's words reached him. "What?" He asked, turning back around. "Use the Force, but—but you said that I wasn't allowed to!"

"Did I?" Master Nox asked, not turning from the book. "When did I do that?"

"When you told me to help load the supplies!" Jon all but yelled back, his frustration mounting at his master going back on what he told him.

"Really? Tell me, what were the words I used when I gave you your instructions this morning to help load the ship?"

Jon opened his mouth to spit the words back at his master, but then stopped. _'What were his exact words?_' "You told me I had to help load the ship. And that I had to do the work of two or more men alone."

"Yes, I did," Nox nodded, flipping a page. "And where, in those instructions, did I say that you were not allowed to use the Force to help in your task? Hm? Wording is very important, Jon. Perhaps, next time, you won't let your frustration at being denied something cloud your thoughts when someone tells you something. Back to work now. But, first, show Talisa to her quarters. Shoo."

* * *

It took the _Sea Wolf_ almost two weeks to navigate around the southern edge of the Valyrian Peninsula and arrive near the opening to the river that Nox hoped would lead them right to the heart of Valyria. '_This is the right course,_' Nox thought to himself, feeling once again the familiar thrill of entering the unknown, staring death in the face and spitting on it. '_The Force will guide us. Even the dark side of the Force seems to want this…anomaly gone_.'

It was a strange sensation indeed. This land was saturated in the dark side of the Force in such a way that Nox felt a wave of nostalgia for Korriban. But despite the dark side having such a strong hold, there was something…off about it. A strange hunger. Something strange was giving birth to this abnormal dark side. And while many aspects of the dark side could be considered 'unnatural' to most, whatever was causing this sensation was abnormal and wrong even by dark side standards.

Breathing deep, he let himself slowly sink into the cold of the dark side as he reached out through the Force and began following the path of the river. He could sense…pain. Suffering. Fear. Hunger. Twisted life forms struggling to survive as their bodies were forcibly adapting to the malevolent dark side energies that saturated this land they called home. _'Never thought I would find a Korriban so far away from, well, Korriban_.'

"So, this is the river that will bring us to the home of the dragon lords of old, hm? Guess I was expecting something more…grand. Maybe some dragon statues on the sides of the river or at the very least sphinxes. Apparently, the old dragon lords loved those creatures almost as much as dragons."

"The Valyrians of old were indeed ostentatious, Prince Oberyn," Nox countered, not bothering to turn towards the Dornish Prince that'd saddled up next to him beside the railing of the _Sea Wolf_ while the crew worked on lowering the half dozen lifeboats down into the water. "But, in the end, time is the master of all. No empire, nor structure, lasts forever. The flux and change of life will not allow it to be so."

Beside him, the cocky Prince scoffed good naturedly. "It is far too early in the morning for philosophy, sorcerer."

"Perhaps if your paramour hadn't kept yourself, and over half of ship for that matter, awake last night, it _wouldn't_ be too early for philosophy, Prince Oberyn," Nox shot back, his concentration still mostly on the river leading inland.

"Ah, but what a night it was," Oberyn chuckled. "So, tell me, true sorcerer. Do you really think we will make it to Valyria and back with so few? Thousands have tried for hundreds of years. And none have succeeded. The only one that is known to have made it to Valyria and back was Princess Aerea Targaryen. And the only reasons she succeeded was because she rode abreast Balerion. Though, given her fate upon returning to Westeros, saying she succeeded in finding Valyria was not a cause for joy."

"We will," Nox stated, pushing away from the railing. "Thousands have tried for hundreds of years to discover the lost knowledge and riches of Valyria. And all have failed. But we will succeed because we have something those in the past didn't: Jon and I. Gather what supplies you need, Prince Oberyn. We leave as soon as the boats are loaded."

Leaving the Prince at the railing, Nox made his way across the deck, taking careful note of all of those on the main deck that were either joining him to Valyria or that were just helping in the preparation. The Small Jon was excited. The giant of the man was nearly bouncing on his feet as he kept his eyes training on the land laid out before them. Yet, at the same time, there was a definite fear that was laying under the surface. A fear born of knowing just enough about the land they were about to venture into to fear it. A feeling that was being echoed in Eddard Karstark and the rest of the crew of the _Sea Wolf_ that would be joining them.

The three women that would be joining them however were completely different from each other and the rest of the crew. Asha was staring at the land not necessarily in fear, but more as if it were an obstacle to be conquered. Dacey meanwhile was just barely managing to hold herself together. But her desire to bring honor and aid to her House far outweighed any fear she was feeling. Obara, on the other hand, didn't even seem to care. To her, they may as well have been going for walk down the street. And then there was Jon. His acolyte was much like the Small Jon and the others. But unlike the others onboard that had fought in skirmishes or had been in several life or death situations, Jon had only really experienced true fear once.

Sensing their only non-native Westerosi passenger approaching, Nox turned away from those who would be joining them and faced the young daughter of Triarch Maegyr. He would freely admit that before they left Volantis, he had been worried about the deal he'd struck with the Triarch. After observing the nobility in the city for a few days, he was half expecting the Triarch's daughter to be some head-in-the-clouds naïve simpleton who didn't know up from down and expected everything she said to happen while she lazed about. But he'd been wrong, very wrong. The young woman was anything but a naive simpleton. She possessed an intelligence he'd only noticed in a few since arriving on this world, though not necessarily in the form of politics. But she was intelligent, particularly in the areas of medicine. Even though she was but a year or two at older than Jon and Robb, he would feel fully confident putting her knowledge against any of the 'learned' Maesters of the Citadel who'd forged their chains in the field of medicine. It was a refreshing change of pace to speak without having to use the simplest terms he could think of.

And she was anything but lazy. Within her first day on the sea, she had all but taken charge of the small infirmary on the _Sea Wolf_. And after setting a sailor's broken arm that most would've amputated, she'd earned the respect of the crew. Within the next few days just about everyone onboard was coming to her for any and all aliments they suffered, which was a relief for Nox as he no longer had to deal with each sailor who got a rope burn or sun burn. Figuratively speaking, of course, since he tried to enforce a strong standard of restraint and with high qualifications of what was needed to warrant his attention.

"Lord Sorcerer, the masks are ready," Talisa announced, holding out a leather mask for his inspection.

Taking the offered mask, Nox brought it up to his face and put it on. The leather formed well over the bridge of his nose and tucked itself under his chin towards his neck and was able to be tied tightly to his face so that it wouldn't move when he moved his head. But, most importantly, he could still breathe easily through the cloth covered breathing holes that were punctured into the face of the leather. Ideally, he would've preferred his own mask for himself and something comparable for the everyone else, but neither were an option at this point and time. Revan's mask had been left with Nyra as a keepsake and a promise, saying that he would return for her and the mask. And as for everyone else, well, the technology simply wasn't there to create proper air filtering masks. So, these would have to do. And they were better than nothing.

"Well done," he said, taking the mask off. "Pass these out to those coming on that boats with myself and the others."

"Yes, sorcerer," Talisa nodded, taking the mask from him and making to do as he said, only to stop and turn back after only taking a single step. "Is there truly no other way to deal with this…threat you spoke of, sorcerer? If it truly is as dire as you say, and now standing so close to this accursed land I am fully inclined to believe your words, then would it not be better to wait and come back with more men? Can such a small number truly deal with this darkness when my ancestors sent over two hundred ships, only to fail?"

"With what we are dealing with, numbers will not help. If anything, they will end up being a hindrance. And it is more than likely the reason why the expeditions your ancestors commissioned were doomed to fail from the start."

Being so close now to Valyria, Nox could get a more complete gauge of the land they were about to venture into. The peninsula felt almost identical to the Dark Temple on Dromund Kass. And he remembered all-too-well his venture through the Temple. Specifically, the way the Temple and the dark side was able to twist the minds of those who entered who weren't prepared. Which was why he'd spent every night since they came within eyesight of the peninsula carefully weaving protections around the minds of everyone that would be setting out with him. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was to have one of his own men suddenly lose his or her mind and try to stab him in the back.

"I'll…defer to your expertise in this matter then, sorcerer," Talisa replied slowly, bowing her head slightly to him before backing away so that she could begin handing out the leather masks to those that would be accompanying him.

As the last of the boats touched the water and the men and women began to fill them, Ser Manderly made his way over to him. "Lord Nox," the rather obese man greeted him. "I wish you the luck of the gods, both old and new… It looks like you're going to need it."

"I doubt any gods exist in this land, Ser Manderly. At least, not anymore," Nox murmured, his senses still trying and failing to peer into the dark abyss that was looming before them. "Once we're away, move the _Sea Wolf_ back a fair distance until you do not feel any pressure on your mind or until any strange thoughts cease. Then wait for our return."

"And what if the worst should happen, sorcerer?" Ser Manderly asked as Nox began to lower himself down to the boats.

Pausing, Nox fixed his attention on the second son of Lord Manderly. "If we are not back in two sennights, then assume we are dead. Send no one after us and return to the North with Lady Talisa and deliver her to Lord Stark."

"Aye, sorcerer," Ser Manderly agreed, albeit reluctantly. "Gods be with you."

Dropping the rest of the way down into the boat, Nox settled in towards the bow of the row boat beside Jon while the Prince Oberyn and his daughter Obara took seats just behind them while the other four sailors took up their positions on the oars and began rowing towards mouth of the river that, according to the maps of Valyria before the Doom, would lead them directly to the capital of Valyria.

"So, two weeks to reach the city, search it, and return," Prince Oberyn commented idly as the sailors rowed them towards the land. "I wonder if you are cutting the timing a little too close, sorcerer. Looking at those maps you acquired, it could take us several days to even reach the city. And that is provided we do not run into any…unpleasantness. Then a few days to return. That does not leave much time to search through the ruins of Valyria."

"Tell me, Oberyn, can you feel that slight weight on your mind? The unease. The fear?" Nox asked, but did not wait for the Prince to respond before pressing on. "What you are feeling is residual effects of a dark ritual that was performed that left the very land tainted. Do you ever wonder why, after all these centuries, that none who has ventured deep into this land has managed to returned? Or, if they had returned, why did they return mad? It is because it is no fallacy to say that this land is cursed. Literally and figuratively. The longer we stay here, the higher the risk we have of succumbing to whatever influence has taken hold here. Two weeks is a long estimate, Prince Oberyn. And at that point, should we not have returned, then it would be safer for all involved should we be left to die."

He could feel the fear of the sailors in the boat grow with each word that passed through his lips. Even the seemingly unflappable Prince of Dorne was now facing off towards the land of Valyria with no small amount of unease. "Well…too late to back out now. And should it come out that Northman would venture where a Prince of Dorne dare not…I would never hear the end of it."

As the mouth of the river slowly drew closer and closer, Nox could feel the familiar oppressive weight of a land infused with the dark side of the Force intensify to a level that he had not expected, even after taking a full night to study the broken peninsula. It was…unusual, and unnerving in the depth and quickness of the change. As they passed into the mouth of the river, Nox had to fight to remain stoic as he felt the Force wash over him in such a rush that it nearly brought him to his knees. And as if to exemplify the sensation, cries of alarm and spikes of fear came from every boat that was with him.

"Quiet!" Nox hissed, his voice carrying over the distance between the boats, silencing everyone. But the unmistakable fear remained, even in the quiet. "Acolyte, what happened? We passed through a wave of the Force, but that should not have elicited such a response from those not attuned to such matters."

"It's…It's gone dark, Lord Nox," Jon answered, fear making his voice quiver slightly. "It was bright as day just a moment ago…But now…now it's as if it is now dusk with barely any light to see your own hands. And there's a fog. It's so thick I can barely see the other boats."

Frowning, Nox redoubled his Force sight to try and see just what exactly the others were seeing. But, for some reason, his vision was, limited. Under any normal circumstance, he could see just as well as any two-eyed individual with perfect sight. Even in heavy Force-concentrated lands, he could see just as fine, if not better. But now, in this land, his sight was hampered by something he had never encountered before. "Hold here! Light the lamps!" Nox called out to the other boats. "Stay within sight of the other lamps at all times! Trust nothing you see or hear beyond us!"

He could hear Jon fumbling about in the darkness as he brought out the oiled lamp with mirrors, another 'new' invention he'd brought up to the North before leaving. Finding the lamp, Jon held it out to the Prince of Dorne who, with but a single try, managed to light the oil infused wick with a piece of flint and steel. Taking the lamp, Nox affixed it to the front of the boat and waited as the other boats struggled to light their own lamps.

"Are the others lit?" Nox asked, thoroughly _not_ enjoying having to rely on his acolyte to be his eyes while they were in this place.

"Yes, Lord Nox."

"Good. We press forward!" he said, raising his voice to carry to the other boats. "Do not give into your fear and do not doubt. Trust only in yourselves and those around you."

It took a bit, but soon enough the sound of oars striking the waters started up again and the small force Nox had assembled resumed their trek up the river towards Valyria. "Alright, sorcerer," Oberyn called out after a time. "What's your explanation for the loss of the sun? There is no logical explanation I can find for it…and the only land that I've heard of that is even remotely like this is Asshai. But even then, then transition from light to darkness is subtle and slow the closer you draw to the city."

"I have not seen Asshai, so I cannot comment as to why that land is shrouded in darkness. But as for here and now, the Force is vast and mysterious, Prince Oberyn. And lands where great concentrations of the Force can be found are often altered by the Force itself. And that is what has happened here."

With that explanation, conversations died as everyone began trying to peer through the darkness that had surrounded them. A short time after passing into the darkness Nox felt something waver the edges of his foresight. "Acolyte," he called out once more. "There, just before us in the river, what do you see?"

The boat shifted as Jon rose to his feet and took his place next to Nox, the young boy leaning forward almost to the point where he was in danger of falling into the river. "It…It looks like an island splitting the river in two."

Frowning, Nox pushed harder against the darkness shrouding his sight. Something didn't feel right about the 'island', as Jon had described it. It was unmoving and moss had seemingly started growing over the small mound, but he could feel a slight pulse of life coming from just under the surface of the water. He wasn't sure just what it was, but he wanted to steer clear of whatever it was. "Steer clear of the island before us," he ordered, feeling the position of the bow shift as the rowers shifted their patterns to obey his order.

As they passed the island by, Nox began to wonder if his senses were fooling him when he heard a commotion coming from the rearmost boat followed by a splash as something, or someone, fell into the water. "Bora! Get your arse back here!"

"There's a maiden!" The sailor in the water cried out as he swam loudly through the river towards the 'island'. "I can hear her song! She's…She's beautiful! We need…I need to get to the maide-"

"Fucking fool," Nox growled, raising his hand to forcibly pluck the idiot out of the water and bring him back to the boats.

But before he could so much as twitch a finger, the water shifted as the island moved. The sailor could only give out a single scream before a giant head emerged from under the surface of the water, catching the man in its massive open jaw and raising him out of the water. The darkness may have blocked out what happened next. But the sound of crunching, followed immediately by the ending of the sailor's surprised cry spoke volumes as to his fate.

"Fuck me sideways…Is that a fucking sea turtle? It looks like one that fucked a giant and then got mixed with some beast!" Prince Oberyn marveled, his voice filled with awe and fear in equal proportions.

"Wonder about that fucking later," Nox growled as the turtle finished its meal. "Row hard for the shoreline! We need to get out of the deep waters!"

The expedition didn't need telling twice and Nox had to balance himself as the boat he was on lurched forward as the rowers redoubled their efforts, none wanting to be anywhere near the carnivorous sea turtle the size of a small island. Holding his hand towards the turtle, palm out, Nox concentrated on the sea beast. Now that it was out of the water and active, he could get a good sense of the beast's mind. It wasn't mindless…but it certainly wasn't intelligent. It seemed driven only by hunger. Which was good. The less complicated the mind, the easier it was to influence in a manner that suited his needs. Sending waves of fear and domination towards it trying to scare the thing off. _'That fucking thing can swallow our boats whole…and that shell…a lightsaber could pierce it, but I doubt the wound it would create would be little more than a slight annoyance_.'

But, strangely enough, as they moved closer to the shore the beast became fearful, even without his influence. And without even needing his help, the turtle turned tail and dove under the water, swimming away from them and back towards the mouth of the river. "Fucking hells," Small Jon Umber cursed from the boat next to him. "Did you see the size of that fucker? Swallowed that poor son of a bitch whole in one go! Fuck me…At least he's run off."

"And that should be _more_ worrisome, Umber," Prince Oberyn commented, Nox's senses telling him that the Prince of Dorne was currently keeping a watchful eye on everything around them. "A beast like that would only flee if it was in the territory of another beast."

"What kind of beast could make…that…thing…flee?" Dacey Mormont asked from yet another boat.

"That, my dear," Prince Oberyn commented dryly. "is what we should be more worried about."

"Fuck this!" One of the sailors shouted as the boats pulled up near the rocky shore, water splashing about the man's boots as he jumped off the boat and ran to shore. "I'm not fucking dying for this shit! Not for any amount of coin! You fuckers can just pick me up on your way back…I'll be right fucking here."

Nox could hear the others mumbling about how he was right as the darkness and the sudden attack by the mutated sea turtle began to eat away at their courage. But before he could calm them down, he sensed a lifeform approaching from just across down the shoreline. "Get back on the boat!" Nox yelled, trying to locate the lifeform but was having a difficult time considering just how fast the creature was moving. "You're not alone on that fucking shore! Get back in the damn boat n-"

A burst of flame shocked everyone back onto their backsides, the boats splashing in the water as at least two fell over. The man on shore had but a moment to widen his eyes in terror before the flames overtook him and then he was gone. His loud but brief screams echoing down the beach as some sort of…what he could only identify as an oversized serpent with a fiery glowing hide dragged the horribly charred man off.

"Fuck! We need to hunt that fucking thing down and kill it!" Eddard Karstark screamed, his sword clearing his sheath.

"Do that and you're dead, Karstark!" Prince Oberyn yelled, as the men who'd fallen out the boats were being pulled back in. "That was a firewyrm, I'd bet my cock on it. And trust me, the _last_ thing you want to do is go chasing after one of those god forsaken creatures. With that thing around, the only safe place for us to be is in the boats in the middle of the river. Firewyrms can't survive in the water."

"Back out there? With that fucking sea monster?" Small Jon yelled.

"I'd much rather take the fucking sea monster than the gods damned fire-breathing snake, moron," Asha shouted back, staring the much bigger man down. "The turtle has fled. _That_ thing, though…? That _will_ be fucking back."

"Asha is right," Nox said, agreeing with the Ironborn. "Get us away from the shore. And we press forward."

"Press forward? Two have already died! And you want to keep going? Fucking hells… You're fucking mad, sorcerer! You're…You're going to kill us! Feed us to the darkness…and…and you want us dead! You only want us dead! We should feed you to the fucking snake and sacrifice you! Yes…an offering to the gods of Valyria! The, the darkness is the way! The only way! We must feed the darkness! Feed the darkness!" Lunging forward, the man pulled a dagger from his belt, heedless of the others on the boat as he made for Nox with the blade extended towards his heart. "Feed the darkness the power of the sorcerer! Feed the true gods of-"

The air hissed as Nox's lightsaber sprung to life, the blade cleaving through the air and removing the man's head from his shoulders. And then with a simple Force push, the headless corpse fell out of the boat and into the water, the man's head joining soon after.

Deactivating his lightsaber, Nox turned his full focus on the shocked and frightened members of the expedition. "I told you all not to listen to the whispers in the darkness. To not give into your fear. This land is cursed, have no doubt of that. But your fear will only destroy you if you let it. This one let his fear get the better of him. Which is how and why the darkness within this land latched onto him and drove him mad. Trust in yourself. Trust in each other. Hold on to a powerful thought. A loved one. Your home. Your reward at the end of this voyage. And the darkness will find no purchase in your mind. But make no mistake. There is no going back now. Not until we finish what we came here to do. And that is end the curse on this land. You can either continue on with me, or you can take your chances swimming back or walking on land."

Silence greeted the end of his speech. A silence that was eventually broken by Asha. "Well, I don't know about _these_ pussy-fuckers, but no Ironborn fears the water. What is dead may never die, only comes back stronger. I'm with you."

"Not about to let some Ironborn cunt outshine the bears of Bear Island. My mother and grandfather would never be able to look me in the eye again." Dacey Mormont added. "I'm in."

"Fuck," Small Jon grumbled. "My old man would let the fucking Bolton's flay me alive if I was too much of a coward to not go where women will…I'm still fucking in. So is Karstark here…even if he has pissed his pants."

"Fuck you 'Small' Jon. At least, judging from the smell coming from you, I didn't shit myself!" Eddard Karstark jibbed back, breaking the tension and drawing more than a few uneasy chuckles from the men.

Sitting back down, Nox motioned for them to press. As they started to move up the river once more, Nox's mind went back to just how quickly the man who had attacked him lost his mind. '_I despise having to use anything that woman taught me…but it seems I underestimated the pull of the dark side in this land. I'll have to actively shield everyone's mind from the darkness…and there's only truly one viable technique to do so on this scale though it will be very taxing. But still, better to be taxed than to have to constantly look over my shoulder waiting for my own men to stab me in the back. Force…it feels like I'm back in the Dark Council Chambers_.'

As he began working out the logistics of shielding everyone, Oberyn leaned towards him. "Sorcerer, while we need to stay out in the middle of the water, it would behoove us to find a place to stop for a brief time so we can inspect each other thoroughly."

"Why?" Nox asked, turning his attention to the Prince of Dorne.

"Not much is known about firewyrms, sorcerer. In fact, there is only one documented case in all of the Citadel about them. But one thing that is known is that they produce larva. Larva that infect the flesh like bot flies. Only difference is these larvae burn the host from the inside as they grow. Killing their host in a most horrendous fashion. And I don't know about you but being slowly roasted alive by larva festering beneath my flesh is perhaps the _last_ way I wish to leave this world."

Nox could see his point. Risking exposing himself, Nox focused hard on the river before him and let his sense flow outwards but kept himself contained to the river. "There is a wrecked ship less than two hours row from here," he said. "The ship ran upon some rocks and cannot move, but it should serve for our purposes. And I wholeheartedly agree with you, Oberyn. That would indeed be one of the last ways I would want to leave this world."

* * *

"Alright, lad. I don't see shit on you. Not that I can hardly see shit to begin with. Now put your clothes back on before you make the women blush, Snow."

Shaking his head, Jon immediately began pulling on his pants as Eddard Karstark began to do the same. Looking around the deck of the shipwrecked Lannister ship, Jon took a quick count of everyone on board. Not that he really needed too. He already knew exactly how many of them there were. And it was two less than the number they set out with. And those two, gods, Jon didn't think he would ever forget what happened to them. One was pulled underwater by some sort of giant turtle. And the other…the other plucked off the ship, burned alive, and then eaten by a firewyrm. Neither was a fate Jon would wish upon anyone.

Tightening his pants and throwing his shirt back on, he left his Karstark kin to finish getting dressed while he went over and stood next to Master Nox, who at the moment was standing by the edge of the ship staring off towards the east. At least Jon thought it was east. It was near impossible to tell in the thick fog that covered Valyria and blocked out the sun to tell which way was which. Standing beside the sorcerer, Jon tried to peer out into the darkness with both his eyes and through the Force, yet he failed with both.

"Can you see anything, Jon?"

Nox's sudden question caught Jon by such surprise that he only just barely managed to keep himself from jumping. "I – no," Jon answered honestly, trying once more to see, or sense, anything beyond the ship. "I can't see anything through the fog and without the sun. And I – I can't sense anything either. At least nothing beyond the ship."

"And why do you believe that is?"

Jon frowned in thought as he tried to work out an answer to Lord Nox. "Because something is…preventing us from seeing?"

"In a manner of speaking, you are correct," his Master confirmed. "But it is far more complicated than just someone blocking our sight. There is such a ritual for that specifically, but it would be impractical to use the ritual I'm thinking of in such a confined area. So, rather, it is not someone but rather some_thing_ that is blocking our Force Sight. And that is the very land of Valyria itself."

That brought Jon up short and sent a spike of fear through him. "Valyria itself is…blocking us?"

"In a sense," Master Nox nodded. "I am now more convinced than ever that what happened to cause the Doom was some sort of powerful ritual gone wrong. I can only speculate on the exact details of the ritual, but to be sure it was a dark, _very_ dark ritual. One that covered the very land itself in a blanket of the dark side and turned it into this desolate wasteland where only the strongest can survive."

Biting his lip, Jon fought to keep himself calm. "But you can see through the darkness, right, Master? You're the most powerful man alive in manners of the Force."

His Master didn't answer immediately, which did nothing to calm the swell of fear within Jon's gut. "My vision is also impaired, acolyte. Normally, yes, I would be able to break through the shroud that is blocking us. But as I am now, I cannot."

Now it was all Jon could do to keep his fear in check. If his Master, the strongest and most powerful man alive, couldn't fight back against whatever was shrouding this, then what hope did they have? "Then…what – ?"

"This land is far more than tainted than I had originally anticipated," his Master cut him off. "Already it is looking to twist and corrupt the minds of those with us. And it is taking a good deal of my strength to hold the darkness at bay. And while I am doing so, I'm counting on you to be my eyes, both physically and through the Force."

The fear within him was now reaching heights he never knew possible. "I – I don't –"

"If you don't, then we will all perish within these lands, Jon," Nox said, using his name and surprising Jon greatly as he turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're strong, Jon. Strong as any I have met or trained. Do not doubt yourself. To doubt is to invite failure. And if you fail, then we will all die. Set your nerves to steel, Jon. Use your fear to strengthen your resolve to live. Do not try. Just _do_. You always wanted to prove that you were more than just a Snow. More than just a stain on your father's honor. Well, this is your chance to do just that. Prove all those who thought you were worthless wrong. Here and now."

The fear that was almost overtaking him but a moment ago evaporated faster than a pool of water in Dorne. His Master rarely gave out compliments. But now, he…he just said that he trusted Jon to be his eyes for him. And Jon…Jon would not fail. And with that decision, it was almost as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes and from the Living Force around him. He still couldn't see far past the wrecked ship they were on. But he could see and sense everything that was on the ship with them. Including the strange presence that had just started dropping down from the rotten mast to land behind Prince Oberyn's daughter, Obara.

"Obara! Get down!"

What happened next occurred over the span off only a few seconds, but for Jon they felt like an eternity. He watched as a figure in black dropped from the sky and landed behind Obara. He could see the fear in Obara's eyes as she turned, her hands grasping for the spear that was not by her side. He could see Oberyn shouting for her. He could see his own hand rising slowly as the figure in black raised a blade high in the air, ready to cut Obara down. And then the figure was gone. Flung backwards and into the back-cabin wall of the wrecked ship with enough momentum to carry him clear through the rotten wood and into the room beyond.

For a moment, no one moved or said anything. Then all seven hells broke loose as one of the sailors yelled out _'Stoneman'_. With that one word, everyone on the wrecked ship were suddenly scrambling for whatever weapons they could find while spinning around in tight circles trying to see if there were any more attackers looking to ambush them.

"Enough!"

Nox's one-word command was said with such a commanding force that everyone stopped in place as if he was holding them with the Force. Without a word, Lord Nox held out his hand towards the hole that'd been created in cabin wall. As the body that'd been flung through the wall came back out onto the deck, everyone took several steps back and kept their swords, spears or clubs at the ready to kill whatever it was.

"This isn't time to sate your curiosity, sorcerer," Prince Oberyn nearly hissed, having moved himself between his daughter and her would be attacker, his spear held tightly in his hands ready to end the threat. "Stonemen have lost their minds to greyscale. We need to kill it and dump the body over the railing and get—"

"That is no Stoneman."

Staying close to Lord Nox, Jon watched in fascination as his Master used the Force to pull the man's helmet off. The man beneath the helmet couldn't have been much older than his Lord father, or even Master Nox, but that was where the similarities ended. He man's cheeks were hollow like the smallfolk near the end of the winter years, and his skin was almost the color of ash from dirt and only the gods knew what else. His, what Jon could only assume was golden, hair was covered in mud and the long locks were tangled into numerous knots.

While most everyone was looking at the man in fascination and confusion, there was one who was not. "Oh, the gods truly have a sense of humor, don't they?" Prince Oberyn growled, his sudden anger so strong that it nearly brought Jon up short.

"You recognize this man, Oberyn?"

The Prince of Dorne nodded, lowering his spear and spat, "Yes. This is none other than Gerion Lannister, the younger brother of Tywin-_fucking_-Lannister."

"A Lannister?" Small Jon Umber bellowed. "What in the fucking hells is a gods damned Lannister doing all the way out here in?"

"Probably the same thing we are, 'Small' Jon," Asha shot back.

The Umber heir scowled at Asha. The trip had done little to nothing to mending the relationship between the Greyjoy and the Umber. "I know that, raider. I meant: why is he out here? Shouldn't he be back in the Westerlands shitting gold with his cunt brother?"

"Gerion Lannister sailed out from Lannisport three years ago in hopes of making it too Valyria and finding the Lannister's ancestral sword, Brightroar. He has not been heard from since." Lord Nox answered, kneeling next to the unconscious Lord and holding his hand above his face. "And, in all this time…he has somehow managed to keep his mind from succumbing to the pull of the dark side…at least mostly. Interesting."

While Lord Nox was examining the man, something caught Jon's eye. Keeping wide of the unconscious Lannister and his Master, Jon went over to the hole in the ship and peered inside. Lying just inside the hole was a sword. A hand and a half sword that seemed in remarkable condition. But what truly caught his eye was the red-rippling pattern running down the length of the blade. A pattern he'd only seen on two other blades. Ice, and Red Rain. _'Valyrian steel,_' he thought, grabbing the hilt and pulling the sword out from the wreckage.

Feeling a presence walk up next to him, Jon stopped gazing at the sword and found Obara standing next to him. "Is that Valyrian steel?"

"Aye," Jon nodded, glancing down at the golden lion that'd been engraved into the pummel of the sword. "Brightroar if I had to guess."

Lowering the blade, Jon made to rejoin Lord Nox, but found himself halted as Obara grabbed him by the arm. The next he knew; she had yanked his mask down as well as her own and her lips were pressed against his. The act caught him so off guard that he couldn't even form a response before she pulled away from him. "Don't expect that to happen again," Obara said, stepping away from him, her eyes hard as she reaffixed her mask in place. "That was a 'thank you' for saving my life. Nothing more, boy."

Jon felt his face heat from his neck to the roots of his hair as several wolf whistles and cheers came from all around him. Dacey and Asha were both openly laughing at him and the Small Jon and Eddard were giving him looks of approval. But the one he feared the most was Prince Oberyn. He had just kissed, his first kiss, the Prince's daughter. But instead of looking angry the prince looked, pleased. And when their eyes met, the Red Viper merely gave him a cocky grin before he turned his attention back to Lord Nox and the unconscious Lannister.

"So, now that that bit of entertainment is out of the way," Prince Oberyn said loudly, "what do we do with the Lannister?"

"We take him with us." Lord Nox stated, rising to his feet and holding a hand over the still form of Gerion Lannister.

"I'm sorry, I think I might have misheard you." Prince Oberyn said, shaking his head and working a finger in his ear. "I believe you just said something incredibly stupid like we are going to be taking a Lannister with us. A Lannister who just a moment ago tired to cut my daughter down."

"No, you heard me correctly. This man has survived a year or more in this land on his own and he was able to keep his mind intact. Or at least mostly intact. That alone piques my interest in him." Not a single word was spoken amongst the men and women as Nox stood between Prince Oberyn and the downed lost Lannister. "I know your history with House Lannister and believe me I understand your anger all too well Prince Oberyn. But can you honestly tell me that this man before us had anything to do with what happened to your sister, niece, and nephew? And if you need another reason, then think of how much it will twist a knot into Tywin Lannister's gut when he learns that it was a Martell that not only helped to save his brother's life, but also helped in returning Brightroar to House Lannister. After all, a Lannister always repays their debts, do they not?"

The movement was slight, so slight that if one were not watching for it, they would miss it. But it was the slight shifting Jon felt that drew his eyes to Lord Nox's right hand. The same hand that made a quick cutting motion with his forefinger barely a fist width. But it was unmistakable. "They do," Prince Oberyn nodded. "Very well, sorcerer. I'll play your game for now. But mark my words: should that Lannister even look my direction in a manner that displeases me, I will cut him down without hesitation."

The tension quickly bled out of the area as Oberyn, followed quickly by Obara, marched away from the downed Lannister and towards the edge of the wrecked ship where their boats were tied off. "Umber, Karstark. See to it that the Lannister and his sword are placed into one of the boats." Lord Nox commanded the two men.

"Aye, sorcerer," Small Jon nodded, walking up to the Lord Lannister before seemingly thinking twice and stopping. "Should we secure him? Don't feel like turning my back on the man. Even if he's unconscious."

"There's no need for concern." Lord Nox waved off his concern. "I've placed him into a coma. One that won't lift until I want it to be. He's as safe and secure as he will get. The rest of you get back into the boats. We've already wasted far too much time here as it is."

"If you say so, sorcerer," Umber nodded, grabbing the Lannister under the arms. "Karstark! Get your thin arse over here and lift his legs. Don't feel like carrying this fucker on my own."

Watching as the everyone slowly started making their way back towards the boats, Jon waited until they were mostly alone before approaching Lord Nox. He recognized what Lord Nox had just done. It was a technique called 'Force Persuasion', and it was used to dominate the mind of a man and make them think whatever you wanted them too. And it was a technique that Jon, his brother, and Lord father all found to be without honor. And it was a technique that Jon swore he would never use. "Lord Nox…"

"You saw it, didn't you? Either your observation skills are increasing significantly, or I'm getting rusty." Not trusting himself to speak, Jon nodded. "You still have reservations on using certain techniques I have taught you. You must cleanse yourself of these thoughts of what is honorable and socially acceptable. Only then will you be able to fully access your full power and thereby know the correct path to take."

"But…forcing someone to do what you want, controlling their mind. There is no honor in that," Jon said lowly, not wanting the others to hear their conversation.

Nox's face turned towards him, his unseeing eyes seemingly peering into his very being. "Tell me, Jon. What is more important: to be honorable or to do the right thing? Going into a battle and causing the death of thousands. Or using a Force Persuasion to make the commander of the opposing army stand down, thereby avoiding the battle all together."

Jon didn't like this. Every time he tried to argue aspects of right and wrong with Lord Nox, he always felt like a fool. Something that his Lord Father had confided that Nox did as well to both himself and Robb as well. "But forcefully controlling someone's mind is just…wrong. The gods gave us free will. And it goes against the gods to alter that."

"A Sith uses every tool at his or her disposal, Jon." Nox replied calmly. "And even a Jedi isn't afraid to negotiate to get others to see the better path. Remember our lessons back in Winterfell. Not everyone you meet will fall into your ideas of honor, let alone what is right and wrong. Holding onto your honor is all well and good, but do not let it be your downfall. And if it makes you feel any better, what I did to Oberyn was not a Force Persuasion. That man has far too strong of a mind to be susceptible to such tricks. No. What I did was merely…nudge him in the direction I wanted him to go. But his anger over what happened to his family back during the Rebellion clouds his judgment. I merely gave him a moment of clarity as it were. Now come. We still have quite a bit of ground to cover before we reach Valyria. And I'm still counting on you to be my eyes while we go."

Watching his Master walk away, Jon frowned, his thoughts heavy. '_Maybe…Maybe Lord Nox is right. Honor will also be important. But if you could save lives by using…less then desirable means… Then does that mean that, in the end, you did the more honorable thing by taking the path that save lives rather than costs them? Gods, no wonder father said he avoids conversations of ethics and honor with Lord Nox_.' Setting his thoughts aside for the moment, Jon followed Nox over to the boats so that they could continue down the river towards the home of the dragon lords.

* * *

After leaving the wrecked Lannister vessel behind, Nox had the men and women with him set a brisk pace through the rivers of Valyria. While the river itself had an unnatural calmness to the surface of the water, it was not free of obstructions. The most frequent of which belonged to wrecked ships that had either run ashore on rocks beneath the surface of the water or were partially to almost completely submerged under the water. And while most were easy to bypass, there were a few that were blocking the river in such a way that it was next to impossible for them to navigate around them, leaving it to Nox and Jon to lift the wrecks out of the water and move them off to the side.

While the wrecks were a nuisance, given their consistency, they were barely even a footnote in the problems that they were encountering. Without sunlight, with the oppressive weight of the dark side, and having to divide his attention in protecting the minds of the men and women with him, it was next to impossible to tell the actual time of day or night. Leaving them with only exhaustion earned from rowing to mark the passage of time. And with exhaustion came the need to rest. Unfortunately for them, however, resting was confined to within the boats where half the men or women onboard would rest while the other half rowed. Thankfully, it was an arrangement that everyone was willing to follow after two failed attempts at resting off the boats.

The first chance they took was at least an hour or two past the Lannister vessel when they came upon another shipwreck, this one was like the Lannister ship in that it was mostly intact. Against a warning from the Force, one Nox tried and failed to impress upon the others, they tied their boats up to the wreckage and the crews disembarked to catch some much-needed rest. While most of Nox's expedition Force started unloading the boats or setting out food, one of the sailors who'd been most adamant about needing a rest had found a comfortable spot against some rotten wood to lean back against and catch some rest. A rest he would never wake from.

One of the other sailors had made to shake his seemingly sleeping shipmate awake, only to let out a scream of terror as the resting sailor fell face first onto the deck. His back covered in fist sized slugs that had burrowed into his flesh and were in the process of making a meal out of his internal organs. It didn't take much convincing after that for the expedition to pack back up immediately and get back onto the boats and continue on their way.

The second time had been when they'd found a solid rock formation on the side of the river. Not sensing any dangerous lifeforms, or even any lifeforms for that matter, in the immediate vicinity, Nox had agreed to go ashore and let the expedition rest for a short while. And while he was correct in that there were no dangerous animals nearby, the reasoning as for why that was became apparently rather quickly as one of the men found a small stream feeding into a pond just off the edge of the river. For reasons that Nox could not comprehend and despite his warnings about not trusting anything coming from the land, the sailor had cupped his hands into the stream and taken a drink of the water.

By his own admission, Prince Oberyn was a master of nearly all things related to poisons. But even he was surprised at just how quickly and violently the seeming innocent looking water took effect. Within a minute of drinking, the sailor was projectile vomiting up everything in his stomach while blood began to drain from every orifice on his body. There had been no hope for the man. And the only thing that could be done for him was a quick death, which Nox granted with a twist of his wrist which snapped the doomed man's neck.

Thankfully, after losing four of the expedition before the close of the first day, or at least what Nox assumed was the close of the first day, things began to fall into a routine and normalize. Or at least normalize as much as possible considering they were traversing through a land that Nox was quickly coming to think could make even Korriban seem tame in comparison. The members of the expedition, no longer willing to get off the boats for any reason, had settled into their current rotation where half the remaining members would row, and the other half would rest while either Jon or Nox would take lead, guiding them through the darkness of Valyria. It was boring. But at least it was a good type of boring in which there wasn't a significant risk of death.

After nearly a dozen rotations of rowing, Nox felt something shift in the Force. It was similar to the shift he'd felt when they first came close to the peninsula, only in reverse this time as the constant dark weight pressing on his mind seemed to almost lift ever so slightly. A sensation that caused almost the entire expedition force start as Jon quickly rose from his seated position next to Nox. His excitement so intense that he was almost shaking in place.

"Master Nox," Jon breathed beside him, no doubt having felt the same thing he had.

"Tell me what you see, acolyte."

"There's – We're passing by a breakwater! Just like in White Harbor!"

Lowering his defenses on the minds of the expedition slightly, Nox refocused himself so that he could see with unclouded eyes through the Force once more. "We're here," he said, a smile coming upon him as he turned to face the expedition as he spoke loud enough for all to hear him. "At long last, Valyrian Freehold. The home of the dragon lords."

His words were like a drink of water to man dying of thirst as the expedition, almost as one, shot to their feet, nearly tipping the boats in their exuberance as they all watched as they passed by the sphinx topped breakwater leading into what he hoped as the harbor adjacent to the Old Valyria.

"The fog is lifting," Prince Oberyn stated, the man staring around in wonder. "It's still dark…but the fog has lifted. Why?"

Frowning, Nox concentrated on the barrier they'd passed just before the breakwater. The barrier was, surprisingly, made up of the light side of the force, and seemed primarily to serve to keep things out. But not physical objects, considering they were able to pass through without incident. Which then raised the question of just why it'd been erected and what purpose did it serve? _'The latter answer seems obvious_,' he thought as the members of the expedition began rowing with a renewed purpose as their end objective came closer and closer. '_It was erected to keep out the dark side taint that has covered the land. But why that in specific? And when was it created? During the Doom? Before? Or perhaps survivors created it to keep themselves safe?_'

The last thought gave Nox a moment of pause. As unlikely as it was, there was still the possibility of survivors in this dark side infused land. Deciding it was better to err on the side of caution, Nox let his sense roll over the landscape. He could sense the barrier of light, a large dome that encompassed almost the entirety of the ruined city just before them. But inside of the dome he could sense nothing. No life. Not even that belonging to insects. The city might've been protected from dark side that'd covered the land, but it was truly a dead city in every sense of the word.

"I see a dock ahead!" Asha called out, her fledging power enhancing her vision just enough to see through the darkness and the light fog that covered the water.

Her eyes proved true as within a few minutes of near frantic rowing the expedition let out a cry of joy and relief as a set of stone piers appeared through the fog. "Bring us up to the nearest pier," he ordered. "Get the ropes ready to tie us off."

As the first boat carrying Nox, Jon, Obara and Oberyn neared the stone pier, the sailors onboard immediately jumped off the moment they were close enough and began to tie off the boat while the other four boats found separate parts of the pier to tie off onto.

Stepping onto the pier, Nox took a moment to shake out his legs to get the blood flowing back through them after sitting for only the Force knew how long. The rest of the boats emptied rather quickly as everyone was rather anxious to get back onto relatively safe land. Or as safe as the land could be on this peninsula.

"By the Drowned God and gods of old and new…" Asha murmured, coming up and standing beside him as the two peered into the ruins that was Old Valyria. "Sorcerer…if I could give you my eyes for a day to see this, I surely would in return for this gift of bringing me here. This…This will be a tale none on the Iron Islands will ever hope of topping for a hundred years."

"No need to gift me your eyes, Asha," Nox replied, stepping towards the base of the pier and onto the stone walkway that led towards a street running between the ruined houses of Valyria. "I can see just fine."

And he could. Valyria, just like almost all larger cities on this world, was filled with buildings that were stacked nearly on top of each other. But that was about where the similarities ended. For while White Harbor, Braavos, and Volantis all had buildings made up of stone, wood and mud, every single building within Valyria was made of a black stone substance that a had faint echoing of the Force within. Almost as if this entire city were made in manner similar to the Jedi and Sith Temples on Tython and Korriban respectively.

But that was about all the good he could say, as evidence of the Doom that cause the fall of Valyria was very evident in hardened lava lining parts of the streets. Most if not all the once perhaps majestic buildings had been damaged or outright destroyed. And most telling of all was the settled and very thick layer of ash that nearly went up to his knees, and in some places even deeper.

"So, it was a volcanic eruption hat caused the Doom," Prince Oberyn observed, poking at the hardened lava resting against one of the houses.

"What in the gods' names is a…volcanes….whatever the fuck you said?" Small Jon mumbled, staring down at the hardened lava, poking it with the tip of his sword.

"A volcano is a fissure in the surface of the planet leading down to a pocket of molten rock, magma or lava if you will," Nox explained, taking a moment to further examine the immediately area in as much detail as he could. "Over time, pressure from natural gasses will build up beneath the fissure and eventually the fissure will rupture, spewing forth the magma, volcanic ash, and gasses that'd been pressurizing beneath the surface. A small eruption can affect anything with a mile or so of the eruption point. However, a large-scale eruption can affect everything within several leagues. Falling ash thick enough to choke a man. Lava running across the ground hot enough to burn a man to death just from passing too close by. Falling rocks and melted stone larger than a carriage falling from the sky. What happened here was no doubt a large-scale eruption."

Everyone, including Prince Oberyn, stopped and stared at him. "Are you sure you have never been to the Citadel, Sorcerer?" Oberyn asked, shaking his head. "You speak with the knowledge of an Archmaester who has forged enough chains to weigh a man down."

"If…If such a thing caused the Doom…then are we safe even standing here?" Eddard Karstark asked uneasily. "What if this…eruption thing happens again?"

"Unlikely," Oberyn answered before he could. "A volcanic eruption on this size is believed to happen only once every several hundred years. At least that is the theory proposed by the most learned men in the Citadel and confirmed by scholars in Essos. So, there shouldn't be any concerns of us getting caught in another blast anytime soon. But…this cannot be all that caused the Doom."

"Why not?" Nox's acolyte asked, his tone curious. "It looks like everyone here died from exactly what Master Nox described."

"Because it is unlikely that a volcano caused the breaking of the peninsula," Nox answered. "There is only one other such recorded event similar in history. The tale of the Children of the Forest breaking the Arm of Dorne to try and prevent the First Men from crossing the land bridge from Essos to Westeros."

"So, you're saying someone broke the peninsula of Valyria just like the Children are said to have broken the Arm of Dorne," Prince Obery summarized. "An interesting theory, but one that you are not alone in thinking. One of the Archmaesters in the Citadel, Marwyn, brought forth that same theory some years ago. And he was nearly laughed out of the Citadel and strip of his chains just for suggesting it. But looking at this place, perhaps he truly was on to something."

This was not the first time Nox had heard of this Archmaester. 'Marwyn the Mage', Maester Luwin called him. A name he had garnered for his near obsessive research into the arcane arts. _'The more I hear of this particular Archmaester, the more I am inclined to invite him to Winterfell to speak with him. Or perhaps even make a trip to the Citadel. The library is said to be the only one that surpasses the library of Winterfell_.' "Yes, I do believe that something caused the Doom, or at least kickstarted it."

"Then, why didn't they flee?" Jon asked. "I mean, they had to know something was going on. Couldn't they have outrun the eruption? And whatever or whoever caused it?"

"Possibly. But I think they had more on their minds than simply fleeing once whatever started the Doom happened." To accent his point, he pointed off to his right and with a gentle wave of the Force, created a small gust that parted the mist at least momentarily.

What was revealed made everyone gasp. And the few swords that were not drawn were suddenly pulled from their sheaths and held at the ready. Barely fifty paces away from them laying across the destruction of several stone buildings were the two dragon skeletons. At least he believed they were dragons given what he knew of the creatures. Each creature was nearly half the size of the _Sea Wolf_ with a wingspan that could rival the great Northern ship. But what was most curious was not the fact that there were two dragon skeletons that had crashed into several homes and presumably died upon impact. No, what was most curious was the fact that one dragon clearly had the neck of the other in its powerful jaws and had not let go even as they crashed and died together.

"Put those down," Nox commanded. "They're dead. And even if they were not, I doubt simple swords and clubs would be enough to even make those things blink."

Keeping his spear held level, Oberyn moved through the ash towards the two skeletons. "They were battling one another," he noted, coming to the same conclusion as Nox. "Civil unrest and infighting during a volcanic eruption…I wish I could say I am surprised. But what little history remains of the Valyrian Freehold would say that this would be a normal occurrence."

Turning around, he motioned towards the dozen sailors that were trailing behind the main group. "You lot stay here at the docks. Do not venture beyond eyesight of one another. And whatever you do: do _not_ touch anything with your bare hands. Not until we have a chance to examine it better. And keep an eye on the Lannister. Should things go tits up, we might need to awake him for his sword arm if nothing else.""

The men nodded, needing little encouragement after seeing the corpses of the two dragons, before backtracking the short distance to the boats. Down nearly a quarter of their manpower, Nox took a pause to search the area once again. This time he was focused more of his power into the buildings, piercing through the strange stone that seemed almost resistant to the Force. And then he felt it. A slight resonance within the Force that nearly had him jump in surprise. '_How could this be?_'

"This is strange," Prince Oberyn observed, his gaze pointed skywards as if he were trying to pierce the darkness looming over their heads.

"No shite," Small Jon muttered, shaking his head. "We're standing in the middle of fucking Valyria of all places…what hasn't been strange so far?"

"Not that," Prince Oberyn shot back hotly before pausing and recollecting himself. "Well, in part it is that. But listen. What do you hear?"

The rest of the expedition stopped in their tracks and turned their heads skywards. "I don't hear a fuckin thing," Small Jon muttered, breaking the silence.

"Exactly," Oberyn stated as if it were the most obvious thing. "No birds. No wind. No creatures scuttering about. No rippling of the water. Nothing. Even on our way through the cursed land to reach this city we could still hear the sound of wildlife. But here, here there is nothing but silence."

Nox was seriously starting to like the Prince of Dorne. The man appeared carefree and reckless. But, in reality, he had a very keen mind that made him dangerous both on and off the field of battle. And while he might not be exactly what Nox was looking for in an ideal rival to keep him sharp, he was close. "Jon," Nox called out to his acolyte. "Reach out with your senses and search for anything in the area that feels…off."

His acolyte gave him a quick nod before shutting his eyes. Nox could feel the young man reach out through the Force, grabbling blindly as he tried searching for anything. _'Going to need to work on this more_.' Nox thought with a frown as he watched Jon search through the Force. '_He's reaching blindly. Searching without a pattern and backtracking over himself without even realizing it. At this rate, I'm going to have to forcibly direct him in the location of the resonance if I want us to keep moving at a reasonable pace._'

Just as he was about to do just that, he felt Jon's senses sharpen as he honed his attention onto the resonance Nox had found. "There," he said, pointing towards the resonance with his eyes still closed. "There…There is something in that direction."

"Well done," Nox commented as Jon opened his eyes, a swell of pride coming from his acolyte. "But your searching was faulted. You backtracked over yourself multiple times. You need to work on developing a search pattern when you reach out through the Force, otherwise you will never find anything that isn't sticking out like a sore thumb. Now, let's keep moving. Jon, you're on point with me."

Setting off down the street, or at least what was left of the street, Nox and the others nearly had to high step as they trudged through several hundred years of dirt and volcanic ash that'd only semi-hardened over the years. '_It's almost as if this place has been frozen in time. But the barrier we passed through wasn't near strong enough to cause such an effect. Yet, this place is so remarkably well preserved_.'

As if to prove his point, as they passed by an alley the group pulled to a stop as Dacey let out a light gasp. Tucked against the wall of a building was a skeleton that was clutching another skeleton close to its chest. "A young woman, judging by the structure of the hips. And child in her arms." Oberyn observed, using his spear tip to lift the gilded collar around the skeleton's neck which, amazingly, did not cause the skeleton to crumble. "A slave. But the child doesn't wear a collar."

"She was protecting the child," Dacey said mournfully before whispering a prayer to the old gods under her breath. "Let's…Let's move. No point in standing around with our thumb up our asses."

"Oh, interesting. Didn't realize that sort of thing interested you, my beautiful she-bear."

Rolling her eyes, Dacey waved her mace just under the Prince's nose. "Keep those thoughts in your heard Viper, or my mace will find its way up your ass."

That was the wrong thing to say as Oberyn merely winked at the young woman. "Well, I'm usually the 'giver' in such situations my dear. But I am not opposed to be a 'receiver' in the right company. And if such a thing truly interests you, I might just be willing to make that exception. Though, we might want to find something smaller. I understand pleasure houses in Yunkai have these wooden polished fake phalluses that women can wear around their waist for such occasions."

The half of Dacey's face that was visible above her leather mask went red as she tried to stammer a reply, only to come up short as several of the men chuckled or gave her wolf-whistles, making the she-bear glare at them threateningly before holding her head high and purposefully marching away from them. Nox allowed the moment of levity to go. Given the situation they were in, and just where they were, a bit of humor wasn't the worst thing for the men and women currently under his command.

After nearly an hour of trudging through the ruined city, the expedition found themselves before a dome structure that, like the rest of Valyria, had seen better days. _'But what better days they were,_' Nox thought, marveling at the architecture as he led the group up the stairs towards a towering set of double doors that were left ajar. '_The strange Force-touched black stone. The masonry. All of it: it's extraordinary! And even more so due to it being built by hand instead of with machines. It's still so remarkable to me…just what works of art this world can create without the use of droids or advance building techniques_.'

Walking through the doors, Nox paused as he turned his head skywards. The room they'd walked into was about half the size of Republic Senate chambers, making it almost ridiculously massive even by this world's standards. Around the edges of the room were columns of black stone statues, separated out evenly to provide both support to what was once the roof, as well as to add an artistic flare to the room as each column was carved into the visage of beyond beautiful human men and women standing in heroic or suggestive possess. And on the far side of the chamber, sitting upon a dais that rose nearly twenty feet from the main floor, were a set of seven chairs, evenly spaced from one another. No doubt a throne, but for seven chairs…and despite most being little more than piles of rubble, each was just as extravagant as the last. No more, no less. And below the main dais, spaced out amongst the pillars on lower platform, were thirty-three other seats that, while less extravagant than the ones one the highest dais, were still of high quality.

'_I suppose what I read was true,_' Nox thought as he took a single stepping into what he assumed was once the massive throne room of the Valyrian Freehold. '_Valyria wasn't rule by a single ruler. But rather by a set of Archons that oversaw the other dragonlords. Impressively forward of them. Almost like Volanits_.'

Another step and Nox felt it. The unmistakable Force presence that he, and he alone, was uniquely qualified to deal with. "Stop," he commanded, holding out his hand and stopping the rest of the expedition from entering the hall. "Whatever you hear or see, none of you will take a single step into this hall until I say otherwise. Understood?"

There was mumbling from the expedition, but none dared question him. Especially after he sent a small bolt of lightning that struck the floor right near where Jon Snow had been about to step. "That means you as well, Jon," he said and then took his attention off the expedition and onto the hall before him. "You are not ready yet to deal with what is to come. And the rest of you, honestly, you'd just get in my way."

Walking into the middle of the room alone, Nox waited as he felt the familiar Force presence start to gather itself at what it felt to be an intruder. A loud cracking cut through the silence of Valyria, giving Nox more than ample opportunity to sidestep as one of the columns behind and off to his side broke loose from the floor and ceiling and flew towards him like a spear. Letting the projectile fly uselessly past him, he traced the ambient Force signature until he found what he was looking for.

"Oh, no, you don't," he grinned, holding his right hand out, his fingers curled inwards as if grasping onto something. "Time to reveal yourself, apparition."

A low moaning howl reverberated through Nox's very bones as light and dark mist materialized atop the tallest dais in front of the center chair. Within a heartbeat, where there was once nothing, a semi-translucent being appeared and immediately fell forward onto its hands and knees as it gasped desperately. "Impressive," Nox noted, lowering his hand having completed the first aspect of the Force Walking technique. "I did not realize that the Force sensitivity in this land had developed to the point where one could reject joining the Force after shedding their mortal coil…or did you?"

Watching curiously, Nox kept himself ready to act as the spirit rose to its knees and stared down dumbly at its hands. For a time, the spirit said nothing and did nothing as it just sat there, staring at itself as if trying to understand just what had happened. "How long?"

The question was simple, yet full of anguish. "Four hundred years, give or take a decade or two."

The apparition disappeared, only to reappear less than a few paces before Nox. "You…I know not what you did, yet for the first time since my death, my mind is clear," the ghost stated. "Yet I know not from where you hail. You are not Valyrian. Nor are you from any region of Essos. Sothoryos, perhaps? But your magic, Asshai?"

"Neither," Nox countered. "I am a wanderer with a particular set of skills that is far, far away from anywhere I would consider home."

The spirit seemed to accept that. "Then, perhaps, you would tell me…Did any of the dragon lords make it out?"

"No. All those that were within the city or even the peninsula died during what has now been called the Doom of Valyria," he answered, seeing no reason to beat around the bush with the spirit. In his experience, telling anything but the explicit truth to a spirit never really ended all that well for any party involved.

"Then our failure is complete," the spirit mourned, turning away sorrowfully. "I am Archon Dracequitem, leader of the Archons of the Valyrian Empire…or at least I was. Not much of an Empire now, is it? I would know the name of the man who gave me peace after so long, and his companions as well. They have no need to fear my losing control."

"Darth Nox," he introduced himself while motioning for the rest of the expedition to enter, which they did with no small amount of trepidation. After all, it wasn't every day that one has an encounter with an actual spirit of the dead, let alone one that belonged to a long lost dragonlord of Valyria. To be on the safer side of things, however, Nox carefully wove a barrier around Jon to protect his identity. The last thing he needed right now was for the spirit to recognize the ancestry in Jon and say something about it. "The 'Northern Sorcerer', as some have decided to call me. Currently in service to Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North."

"Stark?" the Archon stated, its attention shifting off Nox and onto the rest of the expedition that dared to approach, namely the Lords and Ladies that were with him, before settling on Jon. His attention focused on the pendant Jon wore on his chest that Ned had given him for his last name day. "You, boy. You wear the sigil of the Kings of Winter. Be you a son of the Starks?"

Jon, not expecting to suddenly be called upon, started. "Um, aye," he muttered. "I – I mean, I'm…I'm Lord Stark's bastard son."

"Bastard means nothing," the Archon replied dismissively. "You are a son of the Kings of Winter. That is all that—wait. You said, 'Lord Stark', not 'King Stark'. And you, sorcerer, referred to him as the 'Warden of the North'. Not the 'King of the North'. Why?"

"Fucking Targaryens, that's why," Small Jon spat, drawing the attention of the specter.

"The Targaryens? Why would those upstarts have anything to do with why the Kings of Winter no longer have their title?" the Archon asked, clearly curious.

"Because a hundred years after the fall of Valyria, Aegon Targaryen and his sister-wives took their dragons and conquered Westeros one kingdom at a time," Nox answered.

The spirit of the Archon stayed silent as he absorbed the information. "Ha. We must have greatly overestimated the strength of Westeros then if that pathetic House was able to conquer the whole continent with but three dragons. But how did the Targaryens managed to get the Kings of Winter to kneel? Did the next generation marry to solidify the alliance? Or did those idiotic fools continue their ill-advised practice of fucking within the family to keep their blood 'pure'?"

"No," Jon answered, his eyes downcast much like the rest of the northerners. "The King of the North at the time knelt to prevent his men from being bathed in dragon fire."

Deciding to head off more questions, Nox launched into an abridge history of the Seven Kingdoms from the time of Aegon the Conqueror to the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty. By the time he'd finished, the Archon's spirit had noticeably dimmed. "So, those fools not only failed in the one task they were given before setting out for Westeros, over the course of three hundred years they managed to lose their magic and their dragons. And now the last ember of Valyria now resides in two children on the run and alone in Essos. Pathetic." The Archon growled.

"What was the one task that was given to House Targaryen?" Nox asked as he started to struggle to keep the spirit solidified. They would have to make this quick. "As far as history states, House Targaryen left Valyria of their own accord after Daenys the Dreamer predicted the fall of Valyria to her family."

"And your history is only partially true," the Archon sighed. "This was not common knowledge, but with our Empire nothing more than dust on the pages of history, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. But the dragon lords were losing their magic. Each subsequent generator being born progressively weaker in terms of magic. And because of this weakening, our holds on our dragons, our greatest strength, was weakening. Where normally a rider could last their lifetime before the mind of the dragon overtook their own, now a rider could only bind for a decade, maybe two, before the link had to be forcibly severed and transferred to a new rider."

Pausing, the Archon turned his back on the group and walked a few paces towards the dais before continuing. "Valyria grew strong not because we decimated or subdued our enemies but rather, we grew strong because we took what made our enemies strong and incorporated it into ourselves. Usually through marriage. A lesson the Targaryens failed to realize. As our powers began to decay, we recognized the need to bring new, powerful magic blood into the line of the dragon lords. And there was only one line that was considered that would be beneficial to us. The one line that kept an invasion of the Western continent from happening; the Kings of Winter, the Starks. We sent out the Targaryens with the hope that they would negotiate with the Kings of Winter for a bride that would become the wife to my son. And that through that union, we would create a new generation of dragon riders that were hopefully not as susceptible to pull of the dragon's mind. It was hoped that by going through marriage, we could avoid a repeat of the bloodshed that transpired when we tried to bring the Rhoynar under our rule and gain obtain their water magic."

"Wait," Prince Oberyn said, stepping forward and catching the attention of the specter. "You mean to say that the reason for the Second Spice War was because you wanted the magic of the Rhoynar? And you wanted to take the women and men as your…breeding stock?"

The specter nodded. "Yes. And for a time, it worked. The water magic of the Rhoynar helped to stabilize the fire that came from binding a dragon to a rider. We still lament that your ancestor, Nymeria, escaped our grasp. What an Archon of Valyria she would've made. But while the war was bloody and almost pointless as the ones who survived barely had any magic talent, it did teach us a valuable lesson. Which was why we decided to try a gentler hand with the Kings of the North." Sighing, the spirt shook his head. "But there was another idea that was brought forth at the same time by those who were not willing to wait. A blood ritual that would require the sacrifice of thousands to reignite our magic back to its former glory. But the idea was shot down due to the unpredictable and potentially violent nature of the ritual in question. However, it appears that we should have shut the notion down harder than we did."

Nox immediately connected the dots. "The one who proposed the ritual went ahead with it, anyway, didn't they?"

"Yes," the Archon nodded. "His plan was perfect. He waited until all the dragon lord families had gathered in the capital, and then he and his acolytes went into a ritual chamber within the Fourteen Flames and performed their sacrifice. The magical backlash from the sacrifices caused all the volcanos to become active and erupt nearly simultaneously. But that was only the first problem. The moment the ritual was completed, and the destruction began, those of us with sufficient power could sense the true purpose behind the ritual."

"The warlock, or sorcerer, or however you want to title him wanted to absorb the souls of not only those he sacrificed, but all of those in Valyria as well," Nox stated, surprising the Archon and drawing more than a few sharp looks from those around him.

"You are very knowledgeable, sorcerer," the archon nodded slowly.

"Amongst my people, I was the head of Ancient Knowledge and charged with the safeguarding of the secrets of my order," Nox replied. "And my people had a variation of the ritual you described. To our knowledge, it has only been successfully used once. And the effort it took to bring that bastard down is, well, let's just say you cannot imagine just what it took to bring an end to him."

"Yes, I can only imagine," the Archon nodded. "When his intent became clear, those of us with the power to do anything were left with a choice. Try and protect the lives of our people, or their souls."

"The barrier," Nox deduced. "It wasn't to keep anything out necessarily. It was to ensure that the one who did the ritual would not be able to claim the souls of the dead and thereby exponentially increasing his power."

The Archon again nodded. "You are correct. We were able to save the souls of our people, but we were not able to save their lives. The ritual… The sorcerer who performed it… It effected more than just the land. It affected our dragons as well. Severing the connections between rider and dragon, our beasts went feral and began attacking anything and everything that moved. Add to the destruction with the eruption of the Fourteen Flames, and it truly was the end of our great Empire."

Remaining silent, Nox gave the spirit a moment to compose itself. "While this will be of little comfort, I am here for the sole purpose of destroying the one that caused the Doom and brough an end to your people."

That got the spirit's attention. "I doubt that is your only purpose here, sorcerer," the Archon countered and sighed. "You seek the secrets of our people. Our steel. Our magic. And our gold."

"Yes," Nox nodded, not bothering to hide it. "The lost knowledge of your people can go a long way to advancing the world at large. And I am a sucker for lost knowledge you could say. And as for the gold and Valyrian steel, well, you can consider them payments for getting rid of the being that killed you and continues to haunt this land."

The spirit appeared to think it over. "Not like I can stop you. And I'd much rather our legacy and knowledge return to the world than rot." Turning, the Archon pointed towards the dais. "Upon the center chair in the base, there is a hidden chamber. Within is a key that will open the vault in the lower levels of the palace. It may take some work to reach the vault…but, within, you will find all that you seek. Our lost knowledge. Steel. And gold. It is yours…should you swear to me now that you will end the creature that caused our destruction."

"You have my word, Archon Dracequitem. The one who brought about the Doom shall not exist to torment you or your people any longer."

"Then I shall see if your word is good soon enough," the Archon said, accepting his oath. "But if you truly intend to end the one who did this…then you will need aid. For he will call forth his own companion, even from the grave, to fight against you."

"I'll take all the help I can get, Archon," Nox agreed. "Let's hear what you have to say."

* * *

Even with the light of nearly a dozen torches to help guide their way, Jon still had to squint into the darkened corridor to have even the slightest of hopes of seeing where they were heading. And he knew the others were having the same problem as he with the darkness. All except Master Nox of course. There were times when Jon truly envied the fact that his Master didn't need to use his eyes to see. Not that Jon would ever want to go without his eyes. But still, to be able to see the world around them as Master Nox did, even for a day, would be an experience.

"Alright," Small Jon growled, drawing attention to himself as Master Nox continue to lead them down through the lower levels of the palace, pausing only even now and then to clear debris from their path with Jon's help. "Am I the only one who thinks that us talking to a fucking ghost of a gods damned dragon lord was fucking…strange?"

Ahead of them, Master Nox chuckled as he moved yet another pile of debris, this time a section of wall the size of a carriage, out of their path with barely a flick of his wrist. "Finding and talking to the ghost of a four-hundred-year-old dragon lord doesn't even enter the top ten of strange shit that has happened in my life, Lord Umber."

"Ugh, forget I said anything then," Small Jon mumbled, holding his torch higher above his head to try and let the light shine farther. "Hells, how deep does this fucking place go? And the fuck is the damn vault that…ghost…thing…was talking about?"

"We haven't even gone that far down, Small Jon," Nox stated before stopping suddenly. "But to answer your question: right here."

Turning and facing the direction of his Master, Jon found himself facing a section of wall that was covered with multiple dragons that'd been etched into the black stone wall. Focusing through the Force, Jon could just barely make out the edges of what appeared to be a door and the vast room that lay beyond.

"So, this is the vault, huh?" Prince Oberyn half questioned as he stepped up and began running his fingers along the wall trying to find the edges of the door that was all but invisible. "I trust your judgement, sorcerer, but how do you intend to open this…door, without the key that ghost told us about?"

"This vault has been through earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and four hundred years of disuse, Prince Oberyn," Lord Nox lectured. "Do you really think the locking mechanism still works after all of that?"

"Fair point," Prince Oberyn agreed, stepping away. "Question still stands, though. How do you plan on opening the door?"

Merely giving a smirk in response, Lord Nox stepped back away from the section of wall and motioned for everyone else to do the same. Once clear, Nox raised his hand, palm towards the wall. Jon could feel the pressure building from the Force as the wall groaned loudly before something snapped and the section of wall jerked away from its holdings only to hover in the air for a moment or two before Nox carelessly tossed the door, its frame, and even sections of the wall off to the side.

It took a moment for Jon's eyes to adjust to the dim light, but as he got a good look within the vault, he felt his jaw just about hit the floor. The vault, although Jon wasn't sure if it truly deserved to be called that, was nearly the size of the great hall in Winterfell! And there were more shelves within the room than the Winterfell's library! And each shelf was full of jewels and books. And interspersed throughout all the shelves were manikins wearing armor that had the same distinctive Valyrian steel coloring. And there were also dozens, maybe even hundreds, of Valyrian steel weapons of just about every type Jon could name! Swords, spears, axes, maces, shields…name it and it was appeared to be in the vault and made of Valyrian steel. And that was just from what he could see from the entrance.

"Holy…Seven's hairy ball sack."

"Eloquent as always, my large friend." Prince Oberyn remarked, shooting the Small Jon a look out of the corner of his eye while keeping his attention firmly on the treasure before them. "But your point is well made."

"Well," Lord Nox called out, stepping into the vault. "What are you all waiting for? This is why you all came with me on this crazy adventure, is it not?"

The sailors, Lords, and Ladies did not need telling twice as they all rushed into the opened vault with such speed that Jon was sure there were dust clouds forming behind them. He could hear cheers coming from all the men and women as they pulled Valyrian steel weapons off the shelves, lifted Valyrian armor off manikins, and dug their hands through chests full of gold coins. A not so small part of Jon itched to join in with the revelry, but he resisted the impulse and stayed by his Master's side as Lord Nox calmly and slowly made his way between the shelves of the vault, all but ignoring the treasures around him.

"Tell me, acolyte, do you sense anything from within this room that resonates with you?"

The sudden question caught Jon off guard, especially as he had been staring longingly at a Valyrian hand-and-a-half blade that was nearly screaming for him to take it up. Forcing his attention away from the sword, Jon instead focused inwards before letting his senses flow out like ripples in a pond. "There's…There's something in that direction," he stated, pointing towards and frowning at the strange sensation.

"Very good," Lord Nox congratulated him as he led the two of them in the direction Jon had sensed the disturbance from.

In the end, it turned out to be a series of shelves twice as tall as Jon and spanning the length of five horses. And on each shelve, situated carefully with a holder, were gems nearly the size of his fist. If Jon thought the wealth that he saw at the entrance to the vault was something, this shelve completely outdid everything he'd seen so far. Granted, the only jewels he'd ever seen were the few gems and that decorated the necklaces and bracelets that were owned by Lady Stark. But none of those were any bigger than this thumb at best!

"Before you get the wrong idea, these are not diamonds, rubies, emeralds, or any other type of valuable stone. These are manmade crystals, forged in the heat of the Fourteen Flames or perhaps with the aid of dragon fire. But their worth is not material…but rather…that they are imbued with the Force. Hmm…I wonder. Just how advanced Force-wise were these Valyrian Dragon Lords?" Lord Nox cut in, raising his hand and using the Force to pull one of the crystals off the shelf so he could examine it.

Jon honestly didn't know what to make of the strange crystals. To him, they looked expensive, but that was about it. Sure, he could feel something…off about them when he focused on them through the Force. But that was it. His Master however, he was holding the crystals as if they were a newborn babe.

"Should have figured that a man of your tastes would forgo all the gold, jewels, and rare steel, and head straight over to the books. Although…considering what is before you…perhaps you do have an eye for valuables, no?"

Jon just barely managed to keep himself from jumping into action as Prince Oberyn came up to them. _'Force, I don't understand just how the Prince can do that!_' Jon cursed at not having sensed the Prince of Dorne's approach. '_Master Nox says that he has some Force sensitivity, not enough to be trained like myself or the others. But he still has some skill. And that even without proper instruction, he'd managed to turn his slight Force-sensitivity to his advantage, which also help make him one of the most dangerous fighters in the world_.'

"Not all valuable treasure can be measured in gold and jewels, Oberyn," Lord Nox said, seemingly not put off in the slightest at the Prince's sudden arrival. "In fact, I would argue that the treasure that can_not_ be measured in terms of monetary gain is the most valuable of all."

"Tell that to the others," Prince Oberyn smirked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Small Jon has gone through four damn claymores. Each time he finds a bigger one, he discards the one he has and grabs the next one. I swear he's trying to compensate for something. The she-bear is scrounging through maces trying to find one she likes, and Asha is currently deciding between two different axes, though I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to claim both as her own."

"And I see that you didn't waste time, either."

Jon's eyes widened as he finally noticed the spear in the Prince's hand. One that he had not come ashore with. The pole was nearly as tall as the Prince and one end was adorned with a long-curved blade nearly the length of a man's arm with the other was topped with a spike. The blade and spike were both made of Valyrian steel and the pole had, if his eyes weren't deceiving him, Valyrian steel inlaid within the wood. "Yes," the Prince nodded, holding the spear aloft and admiring the weapon. "I have great plans for this beauty… Great plans, indeed."

"Plans that do not pertain to our current arrangement and can wait until we are clear of this land."

The Prince looked affronted as Lord Nox placed the crystal back on the shelf. "My dear sorcerer, revenge is like a sweet wine. One that is to be savored over a long period. Not rushed and gulped down in one go."

"I cannot argue with you on that point," Lord Nox shrugged, shocking Jon slightly with just how…sincere he sounded. "But there is a time and a place for such thoughts, and this is neither the time nor the place. We have work to do. All of us."

"True enough." Oberyn nodded, looking around the vast darkened room. "Even if we load each of the boats to the point where they nearly submerge themselves, I doubt we will even be able to take a quarter of what is in here."

"At best," Lord Nox agreed as Jon moved himself back away from the two men. "I need youto assemble the men into two groups. The first is to start locating chest, trunks, sacks; whatever they can find and begin collecting things from the vault. As tempting as it might sound to them, gold takes the least priority here. There are things far more valuable in this vault and the gold will just weigh us down. The second group will scavenge the docks to try and find anything that might be seaworthy or working to make something seaworthy. We only get one shot at taking as much from here as we can. Once we reach the _Sea Wolf_, we will not be returning to this land. At least not for some time."

Prince Oberyn seemed confused, as did Jon if he were being honest. "Two things, sorcerer. Why would we leave such a large amount of treasure behind? It may take some time to transfer all of this to your ship, but surely now that you know the route through the waterway and we are aware of the dangers, such a return trip will not be as difficult as the first?"

Master Nox didn't answer immediately as he held the Prince of Dorne in a sightless stare, one that Jon had been under more than a few times during his tutelage. And just like Jon, it did not take long for even the Prince of Dorne to begin fidgeting uncomfortably. "Tell me, Oberyn, do you remember the first man who died on this expedition?"

Jon swallowed hard as the memory came back to him. "Of course," the Prince nodded. "He started ranting about hearing some maiden's song and jumped off the boat and got swallowed whole by that massive sea turtle."

"And since that time, I have been actively shielding your mind, as well as the minds of everyone else that is with us." Master Nox said, making the Prince of Dorne blink and raise a hand to his head. "The land itself is tainted. That man did not suddenly go mad, nor was he just hearing things. His mind was the weakest of the bunch and therefore the easiest to manipulate, and that led to his death. Since then, I have been shielding all your minds to prevent such an occurrence from happening again. But such a thing is taxing, and none of us are immune, not even Jon nor me. Given enough time in this land, all of us will go mad and attack one another just as has happened to every other expedition that has been launched in the past. Which is another reason why I am so interested in the Lannister we recovered. His mind, despite spending a year in this place, is still relatively intact. Such a phenomenon must be observed carefully and studied. And then there is the dangers we faced coming here. Again, the only reason why we were not attacked more frequently is because of my, and to a lesser extend Jon's, presence. And while you might not have realized it due to the lack of sun, it took us several days of rowing upriver to reach this port. And there were multiple channels and divergent streams that we could easily turn down that would lead us to our doom. So, having said all that Prince Oberyn, is your want of adventure so great that you are ready and willing to risk such a venture multiple time over?"

"Your point is…well made," Prince Oberyn agreed after only a moment's hesitation to think on what Lord Nox had said. "But to the second point, this is your expedition, sorcerer. Why do _I_ have to be the one to organize the tedious part of it?"

"Because Jon and I both have tasks of our own that we need to see to," Lord Nox replied, making Jon start. "And of everyone here, I trust a learned man like yourself to understand the difference between items of true value and those that only give the illusion of value."

"Well," Prince Obery said slowly, drawing himself up so he stood taller. "When you put it like that…I guess I have my work ahead of me then. Good luck on…whatever crazy agenda you and that young boy have planned, sorcerer. I'll make sure to hold the boats until you return. Don't want to leave without our shield, after all."

The moment the Prince of Dorne left them alone, Jon immediately turned on his mentor. "Lord Nox, are…are we going after the one who caused the Doom?"

"I am," Lord Nox nodded, casting one last glance towards the crystals lining the wall. "You, however, will not. I have a different task in mind for you. A Trial, so to speak. Should you succeed, then you will officially become my apprentice, Jon Snow."

Jon stared dumbly at his mentor as his mind tried to process what he'd just been told. When he first started training himself and Robb, he had explained the ranks of the Sith and Jedi Orders with the best approximate comparisons that Westeros had of each level. An acolyte could be considered a page, an apprentice a squire, a Lord of the Sith a knight. And if one were to reach the rank of Darth, then they would be comparable to the Kingsguard. '_Apprentice, Lord Nox's squire…How many would do anything to have such and honor…and it is almost mine!_'

"What is my task, my Master?"

Motioning for Jon to follow, Nox led the two of them towards the exit of the vault. Jon's fingers itched to grab hold of some of the Valyrian steel weapons and armor that the others were going through, but he fought that impulse and focused on following Lord Nox. And it was a good thing that he had, as his Master had begun talking to him just as they were passing by the others. "The spirit of that fallen archon had stated that there will be something we need in the fight to come. Something that will help to firmly tilt the scales of battle in our favor. You are going to collect this item while I go and confront the one who brought about the Doom. And you will do so alone. Succeed, and you will earn your place as my official apprentice."

Listening carefully, Jon committed every word his Master said as to just what his task would entail.

* * *

As he descended through the darkness into the depths of Valyria, Nox let his hand run across the wall of corridor while feeling every inch he could through the Force. The familiar cold, the despair of the dark side, increasing with each step he took. Letting his head lull to the side, he took a moment to bask in the familiar cold, the hatred, the anger. It was disconcerting. But at the same time soothing in a familiar way. For it was in the darkness, alone, that Nox was made. In the deep of the mines belonging to his first master while he was still but a slave boy. For a long time, and even now, the darkness was all he knew. His time with Ashara, with Nyra, had given him a taste of the light. A taste he thoroughly enjoyed. But the darkness would always be his home.

His journey to this cavern was not easy nor quick. The Fourteen Flames were a fair distance from the actual city of Valyria. And seeing as how there were no rivers for his to boat down nor any creatures easily available for him to ride, he was stuck walking. Or rather running. And even then, after reaching the base of the Fourteen Flames, many of which had been destroyed during the massive eruptions four centuries earlier, finding the ritual chamber was not simple. Although, that wasn't necessarily true. It was easy to find the general location of the ritual chamber given the heavy concentration of dark side energy surrounding it but getting there was difficult considering he had to remove centuries of rocks and landscape that'd covered the entry way. And if that wasn't bothersome enough, the land around Valyria seemed to have become infested with strange slug-like creatures that reminded him greatly of Kor'slugs from Korriban. Troublesome, pack-ambush hunters, and vicious against anything that entered their territory.

Feeling the ground leveling out under his feet, Nox found himself before a towering set of stone double doors that were nearly three times his own height and, judging by the feel of the door beneath his fingertips, covered in runes of varying styles though there was a distinct lack of Force presence within the runes. Meaning they were more for show than anything else. _'Although from what I've seen of these dragon lords, I shouldn't be surprised. They did seem to adore showing status, even if all their posturing meant next to nothing in the grand scheme of things_.'

Letting his hand fall, Nox went for the simplest means of opening the heavy doors. Which was by throwing them open with a Force Push hard enough to knock them off their hinges and fall inwards. Stepping into the ritual chamber, Nox could immediately feel the pressing weight of the dark side that was not his own press down in his mind, trying to dominate his very being as the lost soul that died in this chamber centuries ago cried out in agony and pain. Lessening his shielding on those that came with him, Nox reinforced his own mind and kept striding into the middle of the darkened circular ritual room. "Trying to dominate my mind already, tsk tsk… Not a very good way to make a first impression."

The darkness pressing on his mind receded slightly. "Who…are…you?" A disembodied voice reverberating in the dark side called out to him.

Holding his hand aloft, Nox waited with the patience of a fisherman as he searched the room for his prey. Feeling something brush by the edges of his power, Nox closed his hand, grabbing the presence in a Force Binding and forcing it to the ground before him. "Ah! What have you done?" the presence screamed as Nox contained the entity, forcing the miasma that encompassed the being to condense, forming into the shape of a man that could make even the withered husk seem attractive in comparison.

"Sorry about that." Nox shrugged as the being tried to disembody itself again, only to find it unable to do so. "Yeah, that's not going to work anymore. See, I prefer being able to talk face to face and eye to eye with an individual. Well, maybe not so much 'eye to eye', but you get my drift."

The pressure on his mind increased as the entity tried to push its influence. "Who are you?" the entity screamed as the pressure continued to increase, making Nox want to submit. "You are no Dragon Lord! Yet you stand before me like you think you are my equal! Submit! And tell me your name!"

When Nox had first left Korriban, that might've worked. But that was neither here nor there. He was now older and far wiser than the naive apprentice he was when under Darth Zash. During the short trip to the ritual chambers from the Archon's Throne, Nox had been preparing his mind for what he would face. And now the pressure was more of an annoyance than anything. Obviously, this creature had never had to deal with one on equal terms.

Sighing, Nox rolled his neck. "You mind stopping with the whole influencing shit? You can't influence me, no matter how much you try. I've had more than enough time to prepare myself for the likes of you."

The pressure increased tenfold as the entity launched one last mental assault at him. But the thing might as well have been throwing rocks at an Imperial Cruiser for all the good its attack did. "Hmm, interesting." The entity hummed, the pressure slowly ceasing. "You have power…but you are no dragon lord. You are lowborn, are you not? How pathetic must the times have come that the lowborn are the ones who are born with power? …Wait, no. You cannot be lowborn. You _must_ come from a line of dragon lords… Could it be…It is. You are a descendant from the Targaryen upstarts, are you not? You have the look of one, despite not having any eyes to for me to see."

"I'm not a descendent from that incest ridden family," Nox denied, waving the suggestion off. "And as for being 'lowborn', I guess you can say I am. After all, I was born a slave before I broke my chains and made a name for myself."

"A slave?!" the entity shouted. "A slave dares to stand before a god of the dragon lords as if he is my equal?! I will smite you to all the hells for your blasphemy!"

Nox felt the buildup of power as clear as day. '_Primitives. No subtlety at all. They get the tiniest taste of true power and suddenly they think they are gods. How pathetic_.' Rolling his wrist, Nox waited as the entity collected a whirling vortex dark side energy between its hands. As the vortex reached a critical mass, the entity threw it at Nox. Standing his ground, his hair and clothes fluttering against the wind created from the vortex, he waited until the attack was almost at him and then raised his hand and backhanded the sphere of energy away and into the wall where it dissipated with barely a flutter.

"Really? That's all you got?" he asked, shaking the minor sting out of his hand. "How pathetic. I didn't even need to exert myself at all to knock that pathetic attack away. Now, let me show you a _true_ attack."

Force Lightning leapt forth from his fingertips. Traversing the distance between them in a blink of an eye and catching the entity full in the chest. The being didn't even have time to cry out as the lightning broke the entity down at the near-molecular level and disintegrating the body. A body which quickly began to reform the instant his attack ceased.

Across from him, the newly reformed entity began laughing. "Hahaha! Not bad, slave. That tickled! Hahaha, tell me, what is your name, slave? Perhaps I won't kill you, after all. No, one of your power deserves more than to just die. Instead, I will take you on as my disciple! Yes, you will be the disciple to the newly reborn Balerion! God of Valyria! Kneel, slave! And accept your new place at my si-"

Another blast of force lightning and the so-called god was once again destroyed. "Sorry, did I break your concentration?" Nox asked rhetorically as the would-be god reformed itself. "I must say, your definition of godhood must be severely lacking if you can consider yourself a 'god'. At best, I would consider you a lich. But, in reality, you are nothing more than a wound, a blight in the Force. One that I intend to cleanse."

Once fully reformed, the so-named Balerion tried to retaliate with an attack of his own, only for Nox to once again casually grab the attack with his bare hand and throw it back at the Wound, once again causing it to dissipate. "It seems we are at an impasse, slave," Balerion growled as he reformed yet again. "Your power is indeed incredible. I will even grant you the honor of staying that your power might even be near equal to my own. But that will not help you here. For I cannot die! How many times must I say it before you finally realize the futi-"

Crossing the distance between them, Nox snapped his lightsaber into his right hand, slashing across the entities chest as he passed him by, cutting him in two. "I should've expected as much from a slave. No class at all." Balerion sighed as the wound bisecting him healed over. "Your magic has failed you, so you resort to brute strength. How dull. But if this is the way you wish to die, then I will oblige your request."

Feeling a sensation through the Force, Nox leaned back just in time to have a sword pass by where his neck had been. Grasping the hand and a half sword out of the air, Balerion gave it a few experimental swings before settling into a stance. "It has been sometime since I held Dragon's Lament in my hand… Even longer since I quenched her thirst for slaves' blood. Yours shall suffice. But you will not die. No, you will have to suffer first. I believe I'll cut off your hands and feet. Then make you watch as I kill those you came with one by one as you sit there powerless to-"

"Spare me the bullshit doom and gloom," Nox interrupted with an annoyed sneer. "I care not for grandstanding. But if you are so sure in your victory, tell me something. How many slaves did you and your acolytes sacrifice here in this room to start your ritual?"

Balerion seemed taken aback by the abrupt change. His very being screaming his curiosity as it tried to piece together Nox's thought process for asking such a question. "A thousand," Balerion finally answered. "A thousand souls to bring forth their new god. My six acolytes were nearly bathing in their blood by the time they finished."

"And you of course told your acolytes that you would be sharing the power amongst yourself and them," Nox stated. "And they, foolishly, believed you and went along. Right up to the point where you turned the tide on them and killed them to act as the catalyst for your ritual. A ritual which brought about the Doom of Valyria."

"The 'Doom of Valyria'? No, I _saved_ Valyria!" Balerioin shouted. "The foolish Archons believed that they knew the path forward! But they were blind! They could only see what they _had! Not_ what they could _become!_ The Dragon Lords had grown _stagnant_, our Empire _faltering_. _New_ power was needed. A _rebirth!_ The others couldn't see what I could! The _old_ had to be _burned away_ to make way for the _new!_ A _new_ empire! Ruled over by the _God_ of Valyria _reborn!_"

"Yet that didn't happen. Your ritual failed." Nox cut in coldly. "I recognize what you were trying to accomplish here. You weren't after just the souls of these thousand slaves and your acolytes. No. You wanted to absorb the souls of _all_ Valyria. Yet that didn't happen. You managed to destroy Valyria, yes. But like all who get a taste of true power, you didn't have a clue of what you were doing. And because of that, the ritual failed in allowing you to gain control of those who lost their lives. And not only did you fail in that regard, you also failed in containing the thousand souls sacrificed here in this chamber. Even now they are fighting within you, not allo—"

Ducking, Nox spun out of the way of the Valyrian steel blade that meant to cut him down. Pushing off the ground with his left hand while parallel to the ground, Nox spun in a tight roll, his lightsaber cutting through the back of Balerion as he quickly put distance between the two of them. "If you're going to try and launch a surprise attack while your opponent is speaking, you are going to have to do a lot better job than that. You were practically screaming your intent well before you even began shifting your weight to strike at me."

Whole once more, Balerion turned to him. "You think you know me, slave?! You think you know what happened during my ascension… You are nothing more than a foolish slave who does not deserve to breathe the same air as one as divine as myself!"

"Fuck, make up your mind already!" Nox cursed. "First you want to kill me. Then you want to make me your acolyte or prophet or whatever. And now you're back to wanting me dead. Make a decision and _stick with it_ already, will you?!"

Letting out a cry, Balerion launched a flurry of overhead attacks in quick succession. Back peddling, Nox didn't bother blocking as he merely shifted his weight ever so slightly from left to right to avoid each downward blow. The moment Balerion overextended, Nox struck, slicing through the being's wrists and severing them before striking upwards, cutting through Balerion's neck and retreating to the far side of the chamber.

Twirling his lightsaber, Nox waited once more for Balerion to reform. "Well, I guess we're going to be at this all day, aren't we?" he asked rhetorically. "At least we'll finally be able to answer the age-old question of what happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force."

Rolling his head, Balerion let out a crude crackling laugh that echoed throughout the chamber. "You still haven't learned yet, slave? I can_not_ be killed! The only question that will be answered today is how long you will keep up this charade until I kill you."

Tightening his hold on his lightsaber, Nox settled into his Form III stance. "You can't die yet, that's true… But that's simply because I'm not ready to lose such an interesting opponent. But mark my words: before I leave this land, you will meet your end. 'God' of Valyria."


	11. The Valyria Expedition Part 3

**Well, I'm back everyone! Managing to keep my monthly schedule going for now. Hopefully that will continue. In the long run, I'm not sure just how long this story will end up. It's gonna be a long one though…so everyone better buckle up. Also wanted to thank everyone who reviewed, alerted or added this story to your favorites. Your support is what helps me keep going with my writing.**

**And a huge shout out and thank you to my beta reader and brainstorming pal Tellemicus Sundance. Thank you for all of your help and work on this!**

**Hope that you all enjoy and please leave a review if you feel so inclined to do so!**

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Fire or Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. **

**Chapter 11**

Pushing through the rumble blocking his path in the middle of what had once been a road through the city, Jon paused for a moment to catch his breath. As he did so, he stared upwards at the imposing structure before him. While the curved walls were not particularly tall nor in the greatest of shape, for Jon, in this moment, he might as well have been staring at the Wall itself for how imposing the structure was to him. _'Finally_,' he sighed in relief. '_The breeding grounds of the ancient Valyrian Dragons. The place of my Trials to become a Sith like Master Nox_.'

Taking a few calming breaths, Jon started towards the breeding grounds while running the instructions Master Nox had given him before the two had left the Vault and gone their separate ways. '_To the east near the outskirts of the city proper, you will find a building that looks like a coliseum. According to the Archon, this was a hatchery that held the dragon eggs when it became time to bind the hatchlings to their riders. That time has long since passed. But there are still artifacts and talismans and perhaps even tomes, if we're lucky, that will prove useful in the fight to come. Trust in the Force, and you will find what will help us. But be wary. For there were protections, protections created by the Force users of Old Valyria. And I sense that those protections are still very much active and capable of ending your life if you are foolish_.'

Arriving at the entrance, which had been completely closed off due to rubble and years of disuse, Jon closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, trying to find something, anything, that resonated. But try as he might, there was nothing. Just the cold feel of stone. _'Come on_,' he thought, tightening his eyes as he delved deeper and deeper into the structure through the Force. '_Give me something…anything_.'

Just as he started to feel that this was nothing but another false trail laid out by Lord Nox, he felt it. The slightest of a resonance on the edge of his senses that he nearly overlooked. Concentrating, he focused solely and only on the slight resonance. It was faint. So faint that it was as if he were trying to spot a minnow in a murky river at night. But it was still there. And the longer he focused in on the resonance, the clearer it became. But instead of just breaking his concentration and running into the structure, as he was tempted to do, he held himself in check. Instead, he continued to focus on the resonance and the immediate area surrounding it as his Master had hammered into himself and his trueborn siblings time and time again.

'_Rushing into an unknown situation or location will only get you killed_.' He remembered Master Nox lecturing them as they all sat before the weirwood in Winterfell's godswood. '_Before heading into any situation, even if it is life or death, take a moment to analyze everything you can with all your senses and through the Force. A moment's preparation could mean the difference between survival and death. Both for yourselves and your loved ones_.'

After feeling that he'd mapped out the immediate area around the resonance as best he could, Jon pulled his senses back into himself and opened his eyes once more. '_Well, I have an idea of where I need to get too… Now the question is: just how do I get there?_'

The front of the building, indeed most of the building, was in ruins with no clear passageways leading to the outside. But by visually scanning the outside, he found another way in. It was a single opening, whether intentional or not, on the second level of the structure. Keeping his eyes on his target, he channeled the Force into his body, focusing it into his legs to strengthen the muscles as he'd done so many times before that it was now almost second nature. Bending at the knees, he pushed mightily off the ground with the aid of the Force strengthening him. The calm air rushed by in a gust of wind as he flew up to the small opening on the second level, landing just barely inside the small hole and throwing his weight forward to make sure he didn't fall backwards. '_Alright, that's step one_,' he thought, frowning as he investigated the darkened room he'd entered. Thankfully, a combination of the roof mostly missing, and the dim light of the sky made it so that he didn't need a torch. But who knew how long that luck would last him.

Keeping the slight resonance he'd felt at the forefront of his mind, Jon made his way through the darkened ruined halls. His eyes were continuously moving as he searched for any sign of structural damage or potential threats. During one of Master Nox's many lectures, he'd briefly touched on his experiences exploring abandoned or ancient ruins, a topic that had never failed to keep his sister Arya thoroughly enraptured. And it was those lessons and the dangers that such places often held that Jon was putting to use now as he began to make his way through it.

He was only within the ruins for a few minutes before he came across his first obstacle. A hole in the ground that stretched the length of several men and went from wall to wall. Kneeling at the edge, he carefully examined the edges of the hole, looking for a way to possibly go around. _'Looks deep_.' He frowned, picking up a rock and letting it drop, waiting to hear the echo in order to gauge just how far down it went. _'Very deep. I might be able to jump it, especially with no roof overhead. But the question is if the other side can support my weight when I come down? Is it even worth the risk? From what I can sense, the resonance is down in that direction…but do I drop down or continue on this path?_'

Deciding that he really didn't have the time to just stand around and argue with himself, Jon steeled himself for a moment before stepping off the edge and down into the hole. Using the Force to slow his fall, Jon bent at the knees the moment he felt his feet touch solid ground to cushion the blow. '_Huh, that wasn't that far of a fall actually_,' he thought, looking skywards. '_Strange. It looked so dark from up there. But now that I'm down here…it's not that bad. In fact, I can see better down here in the dark than I could from up there. Like this corridor is filled with the light of the full moon. Strange…very strange_.'

Despite the oddity of the light where there shouldn't be any, there was something else tugging at the back of Jon's mind. A nagging sensation that something just…wasn't right. It wasn't that much of a feeling, not much more than slight unease in his gut, but it was persistent. And it only started once he dropped down the hole.

'_I don't have time to worry about it_,' he thought, steeling himself as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other down the hall. '_Master Nox says we can't stay here for long lest his protections wear off. And I, for one, do not want to become some mindless beast attacking everyone_.'

As he walked, he gradually became aware of carvings on the walls surrounding him. Carvings that had somehow managed to survive the test of time and the Doom of Valyria. _'Strange_,' he thought, pausing to examine one such carving, which showed a man or woman standing before what he could only assume was a dragon with their arm held towards the massive beast. The carving itself wasn't necessarily strange, the Valyrian's were known as the 'Dragon Lords' after all. No, what was strange was the almost emphasis that was put onto some object that was on the person's arm. '_What could that be?_'

Looking back in the direction he came from, Jon found himself dumbfounded. '_Wait, I came down a straight corridor…That turn wasn't there just a moment ago!_' He found himself less than a few paces from a sharp corner that he _swore_ wasn't there just a moment before. Leaving the carvings, he started to make his way back, only to find that he didn't recognize anything. The corridors weren't the same as the one he'd pass through after dropping down the hole. The carvings on the wall were different and the twist turns that he suddenly found himself constantly encountering were not there before.

_'Not good…Not good_,' he thought, starting to become panicked as the thoughts of being stuck down in this place started to crawl through his head. '_No, stop thinking like that! If I get lost, Master Nox will…No…I can't rely on him to save me. This is my trial. This is something I have to do myself!_'

Stopping, he took several deep breaths to try and calm his racing heart. '_Breathe, just breathe. Feel the Force. The Force will grant me victory…and through victory, my chains will be broken_.'

The strange resonance he'd felt before coming down here flared up once more, stronger than before. '_It's close_,' he thought, opening his eyes. '_Very close. Just a little bit further an – What is that noise?_'

Turning at the sound of something that sounded like tapping on the ground, Jon had just a moment of warning from the Force to duck as something passed over his head close enough that the wind of its passing brushed through his hair. Scrambling back, he found himself face to face with…something. Something shaped like a man but cloaked completely in black cloth that even covered its face, and which also stood a full head and shoulders above him.

'_Gods! Is that…a man?_' he thought as he scrambled back further as he began to recognize the object that the being held in its grasp and had apparently swung at him. '_Fuck! That's a sword!_'

Drawing his own short sword, Jon clashed with the unknown man. Their blades locked momentarily before the cloaked figure hissed and pushed him a surprising distance away. Keeping his feet under him, Jon brought his sword up into mid guard Lord Nox had shown him with the tip of the short sword pointed up towards the ceiling. Of the seven sword forms Lord Nox had forced him to practice time and time again, Jon had found himself most drawn to the second and seventh form styles, Makashi and Juyo. He found that quite enjoyed Juyo the most, he loved the feeling he got when he immersed himself in the fight, especially when he was able to beat his opponents soundly. But he also loved Makashi, specifically the strategy that was required with the form. And against such a large foe and in such tight corridors, he knew that Makashi was his best bet now.

Waiting until his opponent struck, Jon quickly shifted his feet to his left to sidestep the downward swing before using his sword to deflect the blow towards the ground and using the recoil to help quicken his backstroke towards his larger foe. Jon expected the man to dodge or move or something. But what happened was not what Jon expected. The man did not move. Instead he caught the edge of Jon's sword in his bare hand.

_'What?!That's – Oh shit!_' Jon cursed as he had to let go of his sword in order to dodge the larger man's backswing which threatened to cut him in two.

Now without a weapon, Jon did the only thing he could in this situation. Setting his feet firmly, he threw his hands out and lashed out with the Force as hard as he could. The man, or whatever he was, was clearly not expecting the attack as it was flung back into the darkness behind him, dropping Jon's sword as he did. Picking up his sword, Jon prepared himself for another attack from the shadows. But nothing came. The man that attacked him had…disappeared into the darkness. He couldn't even sense him through the Force either.

"What the hell?" he muttered out loud, keeping his guard up as he slowly backed away from where the larger man had disappeared, waiting for him to reappear and resume his attack.

'_Fuck, I don't have time for this,_' he thought. He quickly scanned the area once more with both his eyes and the Force but found nothing. '_I can't go chasing after him now. Just have to keep going forward_.'

Keeping his guard up and his senses stretched, Jon turned his back on where the man had disappeared and took off at a light run towards the resonance he'd been chasing. Almost without warning, Jon turned a corner and suddenly found himself within a large room that was perhaps half as large as the great hall within Winterfell. And if the fact that he suddenly found himself in the room wasn't odd enough, there was also the fact that the room was as bright as the city outside the breeding grounds. But where the light was coming from, he had no idea. The ceiling was intact, there were no windows and no torches lit. But he could see perfectly fine.

Scanning the room, he noticed that it was devoid of, well anything. The only apparent decorations in the hall were a dozen or so statues of men and weapon that were standing in the center of the room facing one another. All of which were still fully intact. "Alright," he muttered, slowly entering the room as he sensed the strange resonance coming from the far side. "As if things couldn't get any stranger."

Walking into the room, he made his way between the statues while constantly keeping his eyes open and his sense outstretched. The moment he walked between the statues he suddenly doubled over as it felt like something invisible struck him in the gut. '_The resonance!_' he breathed, straightening and looking around. '_It's here!_'

Looking around widely, he tried to find whatever had drawn him here, but failed to spot anything of note. That was until he made a second turn and noticed a slight flickering of light on the arms of one of the statues. Stopping midturn, Jon walked over to the statue. And on the statue's arm was a golden bracer the length of a man's fist adorned with large red jewel the size of a man's thumb in the center. '_Whatever the hell that thing is, that is definitely where the resonance is coming from_,' he thought as he reached out to grab the armlet off the statue.

Just before his fingers could touch the armlet, he heard something behind him. A slight hiss followed by the sound of leather rubbing against stone. A feeling of dread filled him as he turned around…and found himself nearly face to snot with the largest snake he had ever seen in his entire life! The damn thing was nearly as thick as Jon's torso. It had also reared upwards and poised backwards slightly so, to Jon, that it seemed even bigger than it already was. But what truly made Jon nearly piss himself was the snake's hide. It had a faint orange glow…something he had only seen once before in his entire life. And that was just after they passed by the oversized sea turtle that was at the mouth of the river when they'd first departed the _Sea Wolf_.

"Fuck!" Jon screamed, jumping to the side behind one of the other statues. He was just in time to dodge the firewyrm's head as it struck, smashing the statue with the armlet into a cloud of debris and dust.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Not good!" Jon yelled, running behind yet another statue as the snake recoiled and reared itself up again.

The glowing orange of its hide brightened up considerably mere moments before its jaw opened, and Jon could see the flames swelling within the back of the beast throat. "Fuck!" He cried, running away once again, only this time with the flames of the firewyrm right behind him instead of the snake's head. "How the fuck am I supposed to fight this thing?"

Using the Force to lift a larger piece of the statue that'd been destroyed, Jon flung it as hard as he could at the snake, hitting the beast upside the head. The snake hissed loudly, an angry sound that chilled Jon to his bones despite the residual heat of the flames nearby, as the firewyrm coiled in on itself briefly before lunging for him once more.

"I think that only pissed it off!" Jon yelled to himself as he tried to think of something – _anything!_ – that he could use against the beast.

But as he moved to hide behind another statue, he saw something. A flutter of something in the darkness that soon emerged from the shadows and charged the firewyrm. "That's…That's the same man who attacked me in the hall!" he breathed, watching completely dumbfoundedly as the man who'd tried to kill him not moments before completely ignored him as it charged the firewyrm with its sword held high.

The firewrym seemed to completely forget about Jon as it turned its attention to the large man charging at it. Opening its jaw, the serpent sent out another wave of fire, which seemed to do absolutely nothing to the seeming man as he completely ignored the fire and slashed at the underside of the snake with his sword.

Peeking around his hiding place, Jon watched transfixed as the man went toe-to-toe against the firewyrm, dodging the snake's lunges and seemingly to be completely unbothered by its flames. As he watched, he noticed something. The destroyed statue was not far from where Jon presently was and that the golden armlet was still intact. _'Not going to get a better chance than this,_' Jon thought, deciding to risk it while the two creatures that'd just tried to kill him fought one another.

Dashing out from his hiding place, Jon slide across the ground feet first through the gravel and shrapnel of the destroyed statue, grabbing the armlet as he passed it. The moment he laid his hand on the armlet, he knew _exactly_ what its purpose was. It allowed the wearer to control fire, as long as the wearer had magic, or the Force. How he knew that he didn't know, all he knew was that he knew it to be a fact. Slapping the armlet onto his arm like it had been formerly worn by the statue and securing it, Jon sprung to his feet, ready to face the firewyrm and the dark cloaked figure. But the two seemed to still be completely ignoring him as they continued to fight one another.

'_Okay, this is going too well,_' Jon thought, as he slowly inched back away from the two. '_As long as they're fighting one another, I can make a break for it and get the hell out of here!_'

But just as he was about to make his break, he saw the firewyrm lunge out once more, only this time the dark cloaked figure wasn't able to dodge in time. The result was the snake being able to tear his sword arm clear off. The cloaked man immediately fell to his knees, clutching at the bloody stump that had once been his arm. The firewyrm rose to a height twice as tall as the man, its glow brightened again as its mouth opened and flames welling up in the back of its throat as it prepared to roast the man alive.

'_Firewyrms do not kill their prey, not right off_.' The words of Prince Oberyn fluttered back to him as he watched the scene before him. '_They'll burn their prey, but they won't kill them. At least that is what little evidence we have says. No one has really studied them, considering how dangerous they are. But it is believed that they'll roast their prey slightly and then implant them with their larvae or hatchlings. And then the prey becomes a host. A host which is slowly roasted alive from the inside until the larvae grow large enough to consume their host. It's a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy… Well, maybe one or two. But it is definitely one of the worst ways one could ever possibly imagine dying from_.'

The cloaked man may have just tried to kill him, but Jon couldn't just leave him to suffer such a fate. If he did, he would never be able to face his father or siblings ever again, or call himself a Stark, even if he was just a bastard. "Fuck," Jon cursed out loud, holding out his arm with the armlet. "You better not attack me again after this!"

The fire of the firewyrm shot out of the snake's mouth and descended upon the helpless man. But just before it could reach him, the jewel on the armlet glowed brightly and the flames stopped and instead of roasting the man alive started billowing upwards and around the intended victim as if hitting a brick wall. After just a split second of this, they suddenly seemed to warp back on themselves and back towards the snake.

One of the many exercises Master Nox had forced Jon and the others to undergo was making fire dance. It was a nearly impossible task, and one that couldn't be maintained for long. Holding onto the fire and manipulating it was like trying to hold onto a freshly-caught slime covered fish that was the size of your arm. And that was just with a candle's flame. But now, with the armlet's augmentation, Jon could control the fire with such ease that it honestly felt like cheating.

The snake hissed in pain as its own flames attacked it. As the snake thrashed about, Jon let go of the flames and charged forward with a cry, his sword held high as he readied himself to cut the firewyrm's head off.

But the moment Jon's sword was about to contact the snakes hide, something happened. There was no resistance. In fact, there was nothing. It was like Jon's sword was cutting through mist as it passed uselessly through the air and struck the ground where the snake had been.

Catching himself, Jon readied for whatever counter the firewyrm was about to launch, but there was nothing. The room was…empty. No giant snake. No cloaked man. No flames. No destroyed statues. Nothing. The only thing that remained was the amulet on his arm.

"What in all the hells was that?" he muttered still not understanding or believing that all of that had just happened.

But just as he was beginning to question his sanity once more, he felt another resonance from the Force. Unlike the previous resonance with the armlet, this one was almost like a physical pull so strong that nearly took him off his feet. And in the center of the room he found a box, roughly the size of a man's head just…sitting there. A slight white glow coming from underneath the lid.

Not entirely sure just what was going, or even sure that the box was even there, Jon cautiously approached the box and used the tip of his sword to open the lid. Within the box he found the source of the light. It was a small white jewel the size of a man's thumb that seemed to glow with the light of sun somehow contained within it. A jewel that was practically calling out to him through the Force. But that wasn't the only thing in the box. Resting underneath the jewel was a large, scaled black stone with light grey stripes running around the numerous scales' edges.

_'No_,' he thought, kneeling and inspecting the contents of the box. '_Not a stone…An egg. A dragon egg_.'

* * *

Deep within the darkness of a ritual chamber buried within the Fourteen Flames, two figures performed a dance of death as old as time, circling one another with blades unlike any other. Nox's blood-red lightsaber illuminated the surrounding area, the only light source available to see within the chamber as the blade spun around in quick movements. Its counterpart, a Valyrian steel blade, and its wielder, the false-sorcerer god 'Balerion', did everything in their power to keep up with the sorcerer. The hall leading to the surface echoed with the hissing and clashing of their blades as the two moved steadily down the corridor towards the outside world. Exactly where Nox wanted the false god.

Ducking beneath a wild swing and placing his left hand on the ground, Nox spun on his hand in a move that would make any dancer green with envy as his feet left the ground, only to plant themselves in the chest of the would-be god before following up with an upswing that cut the creature from hip to collarbone diagonally across it's body. But as had happened countless times before, the mortal wound closed almost immediately after being inflicted. Though, Nox noticed the regeneration seemed a touch slower than it had been when the fight began. Before he could fully regenerate, Nox let loose a barrage of Force lightning, flinging the would-be god across the slight expanse left in the corridor and out into the land of Valyria.

"You…are…infuriating!" The false god shouted, his power flaring in response to his temper. "Why won't you die already!?"

Again, the fool was basically telegraphing his attacks as his anger and ego overrode any common sense. So, it was but a trifle matter for Nox to swat the attack aside once again. An attack which was little more than a barely solidified bout of dark side energy that obliterated a nearby rock formation.

"Many better than you have tried," he remarked idly, slowly spinning his lightsaber in his right hand as he waited for the false god to provide him an opening once again. "They have all fallen to my power and blade. And you shall be no different."

The false god sneered at him for a solid minute before its features morphed from one of frustration to one of confidence. "Ah, I see… That is your weakness!"

Raising a brow over his sightless eyes, Nox tilted his head. "Okay, this ought to be good. What is my weakness?"

"Your feelings!" the false god laughed. "You feel a sense of comradery for those you brought with you, yes… I have been watching you ever since you and those you brought with you entered my domain. Because of that comradery, you've overextended yourself and your power from trying to protect them from my influence for days. Yes, your weakness is that you can be distracted by them! And with the protections around Valyria that those foolish Archons put in place with their last breaths now weakened…how easily it will be to influence some of them to attack the others! Yes…I will do just that! Many were already set to betray you and it will be nothing to give them just the right push in that direction to accelerate the process. With all that treasure you have found, it will be easy to sway their hearts and minds! They will attack the others and kill them! And what will you do then? Rush to defend them? Or continue our fight here? Haha, yes! Your weakness is your care for those you brought with you! And now, it shall be your downfall!"

Lowering his lightsaber, Nox fixed the false god with a sightless glare.

"You truly are an idiot, you know that?" he asked, shaking his head and chuckling, much to the bafflement of the false god. "I already know that there are those that are planning on betraying me within my expedition force. You see, I _made sure_ that the force I brought with me was composed of all of those who were willing to betray me as well as a counterbalancing force that would be able to handle them easily. So, go ahead: influence those traitors into making their move. Have them make the moves I have already predicted and already have countermeasures against. You see, I knew that I needed a decent sized force to _reach_ Valyria. But I don't need the _same size_ of a force to leave. You will actually be doing me a favor by exposing the traitors and helping me clean house before leaving these shores. You will find that those who are vital for my long-term plans or those who are not traitors are shielded such that you will find no purchase in their minds."

The false god faltered, then sneered as it gathered its resolve. "You think you're so smart. Don't you, slave?"

"Yes," Nox responded with a shrug. "I won't pretend I'm the smartest man in existence, but I am, at the very least, smarter than you."

"Insolent slave!" the false god screamed, fire springing to life along the length of his blade. "Perhaps you have accounted for potential traitors in your midst, but your paltry minions will not stand against my army which will soon descend upon them!"

"You mean the roughly three-dozen stonemen that are making their way towards Valyria from the northwest over that way?" he asked, waving his hand towards the north. "Yeah, we were already prepared for stonemen as well. We were heading into Valyria after all, and the Smoking Sea is known to have a colony of stonemen that have chosen to exile themselves there. So, not really a surprise that there would be some in the area. Honestly, I was more surprised that there were not any stonemen that'd laid claim to the city. But again, your taunts are meaningless. Those that I brought with me are prepared to fight your infectious 'army'. And I have the means to mitigate any damage after the fight as well. So, nice try."

He could feel the fury coming from the false god, his emotions such that the dark side itself was reacting. Forming small wisps of miasma around the being's form as it stood fuming before Nox. "You! Are! Nothing! Slave!"

"Wrong," Nox countered, leveling his lightsaber at the being. "I _was_ a slave. But then I was thrown to the darkness and left to die. But in the darkness, I learned. I learned peace is a lie and there is only passion. Through passion, I gained strength. Through strength, I gained power. Through power, I gained victory. And through victory, my chains were broken. The Force set me free. And with this code, I became something far more than you could ever comprehend."

"Pathetic drivel that means _nothing!_ Fitting that one such as you would spout it!" Balerion cried, holding his sword up high. "Let me show you the true meaning of power!"

Holding his lightsaber before him, Nox braced himself for the attack while gathering the energy to create a Force Barrier between himself the false god. The buildup of Force energy from the fake deity was immense and sudden. But as quickly as it came, it went…with no adverse effects to Nox at all. "_Rise! Rise_, my companion of old! It is time to _unleash your fire_ once more! Time to _feast on flesh_ once more! _Rise! Rise_ and smite those who _dare_ to challenge the _God of Valyria!_"

Frowning, Nox followed the path of the Force energy that'd been unleashed. He found it settling on a pile of rocks along the edge of the volcano. A pile of rocks that began shifting and rising, dust and loose ash falling to the ground as a large shape began to pull itself up and out of the place it'd been buried for so long. Nox only stared with a blank expression as he observed how the Force was being twisted and warped into recreating a deceased artificial life.

"Have you prepared for _this_, slave?!" the false god laughed as the last rocks fell away, revealing a winged creature the size of several troop transports rising from its grave. "My companion! My dragon! The mount of Balerion! Fly forth once more and lay waste to those who dare desecrate our sacred city of Valyria!"

There was little Nox could do but marvel as the undead dragon spread its wings, which somehow managed to retain their webbing despite centuries of being buried beneath the ground and took the sky. Its path was clear as, with a few powerful beats of its massive wings, it headed straight for Valyria, giving off an earth-shaking roar as it passed the two of them by. "Well, slave. Did you plan for my dragon as well?"

"No," he answered plainly. "Honestly, encountering an undead dragon being raised and sent to attack those under my protection was perhaps one of the last things I expected to see when I was planning this voyage."

"Haha, so the slave is not all-knowing," the false god laughed. "So, what will you do now? Without those you came with, you cannot hope to defeat me, nor can you ever leave this place. You. Are. Mine!"

"You should've had the beast attack _me_ instead of sending it after my expedition force," Nox continued on calmly, observing the undead beast through the Force as it struggled to stay in the air with its tattered wings.

Disappearing, the false god reappeared almost within arm's reach of him, his Valyrian steel blade aiming to remove his head. "The damage will be the same." The false god laughed as Nox almost lazily leaned back and let the blade pass uselessly through the air. "Already your moves are sluggish. Your attention is divided! This fight is—!"

Twisting, Nox shifted to ataru, flipping over the head of the false god and cutting his head in half and landing behind him. "You talk too much." Nox murmured, shifting back to soresu and ignoring the dragon for now. "Victory is never assured until your enemy lays dead at your feet. And as for your dragon…I care not. My acolyte is more than capable of handling such a beast, especially now. And if he is not, then I have wasted my time training him."

Cracking his neck as his head reformed, the false god turned towards him. "And what gives you such confidence in that uncultured barbarian Westeros boy you call your acolyte?"

"Simple," Nox smirked. "Let us just say, that the Archons of your time were not wrong in their beliefs."

* * *

Standing on the edge of the stone pier overlooking their boats, Prince Oberyn idly cleaned the blood off his newly acquired spear as he watched the man he'd just killed bob in the water for a moment before the weight of the steel plate he'd been wearing beneath his tunic dragged him below the surface of the water. Turning aside, he saw the Mormont girl cleaning a man's brain off her mace while Asha retrieved one of her new throwing axes from the back of another man. Hearing a growl, Oberyn turned his attention to Small Jon Umber, who was returning from down the dock with Eddard Karstark and two other north men that'd stayed true to their cause.

"Fucking bastards disappeared into the damned wilds," Small Jon spat. "Couldn't even bloody my new sword….lucky bastards."

The mutiny, for that was exactly what they'd faced, had been poorly thought out and even more poorly executed. A group of ten sailors had apparently decided they wanted the treasure for themselves and had concocted a half-crazed scheme to take the women hostage before jumping on the boats and sailing off into the distance. Apparently, they'd thought that his daughter, the Mormont girl, and the Greyjoy would be easy for the taking. Or perhaps they thought that the Greyjoy would join them considering her family history. Stupid, but the plan did have an inkling of sense in that they at least waited until most of the men, with the exclusion of Oberyn himself, had left the docks to make one last run at the vault before making their move. Of course, their plan had gone tits up the moment they pulled their poorly hidden daggers and tried to grab hold of the women. His daughter had gelded the man who grabbed her before slitting his throat nearly to the bone. The Mormont girl had simply thrown her head back, breaking the nose of the one that tried to grab her before swinging around with her mace and braining the poor sod.

_'Pathetic, stupid…ill conceived, and costly,_' Oberyn thought as he observed the bodies littered across the ground. They'd started out with forty strong, eight men to a boat. They lost three on the trek up the river. Now, ten more had mutinied. Of the ten, six were dead and four had scattered to the wind. But before that, they managed to kill two others that'd stayed loyal to the expedition. Bringing their number down to thirty. '_Thankfully, they waited until the boats were mostly loaded before launching this hairbrained scheme of theirs_.'

The looting of the vaults had not been an easy task, just as the sorcerer had predicted. The first problem had been locating anything that would be able to carry the valuables. Thankfully, there were lower levels within the palace and other homesteads in their immediate vicinity that were still moderately intact, and they were able to find the chests and crates to load the valuables. The second obstacle came to transport them out of the city. Despite the three losses on their voyage, they were still numbering fifty strong. And the boats simply couldn't hold much in the way of valuables and men and stay afloat. Which was why, if he'd been a pious man, he would've thanked the Seven and the Old Gods when one of the sailors stumbled upon a small building that had several small skiffs located inside. None of which by themselves were seaworthy. But with a bit of rearranging, they were able to tie two of the skiffs together and create a large enough raft that, while definitely not useable on the open sea, would be able to float down river easily enough and hopefully out to the _Sea Wolf_. And best of all, they had been able to load it with over a dozen extra chests of loot.

The last issue present came about exactly as the sorcerer had predicted. And that was with what to take. The smallfolk of the crew had wanted to take all the gold coins they could find, while the Lords wanted to horde as much Valyrian steel as they could hold. Even his own daughter was not immune as she had eyed several Valyrian weapons she wanted to bring. Surprisingly, only the Greyjoy and the Mormont had shown the slightest bit of foresight. Coins were good, as was Valyrian steel. But gold was heavy. And if you could learn the secrets of Valyria, particularly how to reproduce their steel, then they could easily recoup the loss of leaving behind most of the weapons. So, it was with no small amount of moaning and groaning that the expedition began filling the first several chests with scrolls and books. After filling five to the point where they could hold no more, he had them move on to the strange crystals that the sorcerer had been admiring, which had filled another three chests before he decided they had enough. And while Oberyn himself could not see any value in the things, as they were obviously crafted crystals from a forge, he had learnt to trust the sorcerer to a degree where if the man said they were valuable, he would take his word for it.

With the books, scrolls and crystals loaded, Oberyn then directed their attention to the Valyrian steel. While most of the blades were too big to be placed into chests, they were easy to load onto the skiff once they were rolled up in whatever cloth they could find. The last four chests that went onto the skiff were loaded with gold and jewels. As a compromise, Oberyn had agreed that each man present could find a satchel and load it with whatever they wanted from the Vault and keep it as payment for their services. He'd hoped that would've been enough to satisfy the men, but he should've known better. Greed was a powerful motivator, after all.

"They can't have gotten far," his daughter stated, a hard look in her eyes. "If _you_ lumbering fools can't track them, give me five men and _I'll_ track them down and end them."

"Let them go," Oberyn ordered, surprising his daughter and several others. "We've all seen what is out there. Those four won't last but a few hours. And neither would we if we pursued them. Best just to leave them to their fate and let the land itself take care of them."

His daughter, nor the Northmen, seemed particularly pleased with his orders, but as the sorcerer had made it known that in his absence Oberyn was in charge, they wisely kept their opinions to themselves. Walking slowly back towards the others, he made certain to keep a close eye on each of the fallen, just to make sure they didn't have any sleepers waiting to strike when his back was turned.

"Fucking fools," Dacey Mormont spat as he approached the young she-bear and the Greyjoy girl. "What the fuck were they thinking?"

"In short, they weren't," Oberyn sighed, not for the death of the men, but rather for the inconvenience it was creating. "Their greed blinded them to the cost. And now their short-sightedness is going to cost us more than it already has."

"Aye," Asha nodded, throwing the rag away that she'd been using to clean the blood off one of her axes. "We've lost a quarter of those we set out with. It will be difficult rowing back downstream, especially given what it took to get us here. And now we got the skiff to consider as well. We'll have the current to help take us downstream, but it won't be enough to offset what we've lost."

She was right. The voyage upriver had been anything but easy. All of them, himself included, were nearing the point of exhaustion, he could feel it in his very bones. The current downstream would help. But as Asha correctly pointed out, losing a quarter of their number meant they had a quarter fewer to row. Which meant they would either have risk rowing to the point of near exhaustion, or risk staying in this accursed land longer than necessary, or they could leave behind some of their loot. None of which sounded particularly appealing to Oberyn.

"Perhaps we should wake up the Lannister." Dacey muttered. "The lions might not have much in the way of honor and he might be half out of his mind, but at least he'd be one more pair of hands to man the oars."

The idea was not without merit, as much as he loathed to admit it. And, granted, Gerion was not his brother nor the Mountain. But still, the idea of having to rely on a Lannister for anything was not something he was willing to entertain. '_Nox has seemed to have had a counter plan for any potential issues that arose so far this voyage_,' he thought, his eyes flickering to the boat where the Lannister man remained asleep. '_I wouldn't be surprised if he even suspected a potential mutiny before we left. Let's just hope he has plans for how to get all of us out of here in a timely manner_.'

The shifting of rubble away from a wall brought all of them around, their weapons leveled and ready to fight. Only to hold themselves in check as Jon Snow appeared on the other side of the rubble and stopped dead, his hands held out in a nonthreatening manner while his eyes took in the scene with the several dead men scattered across the pier. "What in the name of the gods happened?"

"A slight dispute on the proper distribution of pay," Oberyn replied almost on reflex as he raised his spear. "A few of our number thought they were entitled to all of what we found and fully intended on leaving the rest of us behind. The rest of us had issue with that idea and, well, they lost the argument."

"Oh," the bastard of the Warden of the North replied elegantly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, well, what do we do now?"

"Now?" Oberyn replied, hefting his spear over his shoulder. "Now, we wait for the sorcerer to return from whatever fight he's hogging all to himself. And then we figure out how to man our boats plus an extra skiff with less than a quarter of the manpower we started with. Either that, or we begin sorting what we have and start leaving things behind. Something that I'm sure no one wants to have happen."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the boy frown in thought before turning northwards and staring off into the distance. Oberyn considered himself a master of reading people, one had to be if you were to survive the games of nobles and the games in the fighting pits. In a fight, the slightest twitching of a hand or shifting of the eyes or even the shifting of one's weight could tell the opposition exactly what their next move would be. And in the game of the nobles, one's eyes or twitching or one of a hundred slight tells could give away a lie or the truth. So, when Oberyn saw the bastard of the North go stone still as he faced the north when he was relaxed but a moment before, a hundred warning bells started sounding in his head.

Tightening his grip on his new spear, he moved to stand side by side with the boy. Jon's eyes were pointedly facing northwards and had an almost…detached look to them. As if he were seeing without seeing, if that even made sense. "Master Nox is still fighting…something dark. Something strong, but…wrong. So very wrong. It's as if the Force itself is rejecting the thing's very existence," Jon said almost emotionlessly as if he were describing the weather.

Looking at the boy out of the corner of his eye, he kept his attention northwards. "Is he winning?"

Jon shook his head. "I…I can't tell from this distance but… Wait. What – What is that?"

The sense of dread increased tenfold as he watched Jon turn whiter than the snow of his homeland. "What is what boy?"

Jon's answer came in a single word as his eyes grew large and went skywards. "Run!"

Not a moment later, an ear splitting, chest rumbling roar came from the sky, chilling the very blood in Oberyn's veins as he looked skywards. What he saw was impossible. Yet, it was there. Dropping from the clouds and flying low enough to scrap the tops of the buildings was the very creature that allowed the Targaryen's to conquer almost all of Westeros. A dragon. "Scatter! Now!" he yelled, running off to his left and, on instinct, grabbing Jon by the waist and putting himself between the dragon's path and the young boy.

The heat was the worst. Even though Oberyn was well clear of the dragon's path, he could still feel the heat of the dragon fire down to his very bones as the beast of legend passed them by, scorching everything in its path. Which included two more of their number who were too awestruck to move. The only saving grace he could think of was that the flames of the dragon killed the two hapless sailors so quickly that they didn't even have time to scream nor, he hoped, to truly feel the pain of the fire turning them to little more than piles of ash.

"Someone better tell me I'm fucking sleeping on a pile of gold back in the fucking vault!" the young Umber yelled. "Because there is no damn way that a _dragon_ just passed us by and tried to fucking cook us!"

"This isn't a fucking dream, Umber! It's a fucking nightmare! And one we're all sharing!" a second voice, the Karstark boy he believed, shouted back.

"We need to get into the buildings!" Dacey Mormont shouted. Her mace held tightly in her hands as her gaze remained skywards. "The thing can't burn us if it can't find us!"

"No!" Oberyn blinked, the voice hadn't come from him, but rather from the young bastard boy he'd been protecting, who'd suddenly shrugged him off and marched out into the open. "Dragonfire can melt stone, even this stone here in Valyria. We go in between the buildings or in them, and that dragon will turn them into ovens. And we can't stay here, if one of those flames hits the boats, we lose our only way of getting out of here in any timely manner."

He was reasonably impressed with the boy's logic. Between the buildings would give them the option to hide, but it would limit their mobility and if the dragon hit them with a burst of fire, those stone homes would turn into ovens to cook them alive. Out in the open had its risks, but it was the better option. But regardless of out in the open or into the city, they had to get away from the boats to prevent the dragon from targeting them. Hopefully.

"Listen to Snow! Get your asses towards the outskirts of the city or I'll kill you myself and save the dragon the trouble!" he shouted, motioning with his spear in the direction they were to go before turning and speaking quietly to Jon, "I hope whatever task the sorcerer sent you on, boy, gave you some kind of trick to deal with the dragon."

"I just might have a 'trick up my sleeve', Prince Oberyn!" Jon Snow shouted as the two ran towards the outskirts of the city.

The movement was brief, but out of the corner of his eye Oberyn noticed Jon touching the sleeve of his tunic on his right arm. '_I see, he meant that quite literally. I'm interested to see just what the sorcerer sent him after_.' "Careful with that cavalier attitude, boy! I might just start taking a real liking to you! And, if not me, then Ellaria certainly will. She likes witty young men af-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Asha shouted from just ahead of the two of them. "Think with your cock later, Prince! Dragon first! Fucking after!"

Despite the situation, Oberyn felt his face split in a smile under his mask as he stared at the Greyjoy woman's backside. "Is that an offer, Lady Asha?"

"Here it comes! Scatter!"

At Snow's warning, everyone scattered off to their left or right, taking whatever cover they could find. _'Shit_,' Oberyn cursed, tucking himself behind a building's corner just as he could hear the dragon's roar and the beating of the beast's wings. '_We're not out in the open yet! That thing lets loose a blast like last time, and we're all cooked!_'

Just as he could start making out the form of the dragon through the mist, he noticed something that had slipped his attention when he ducked for cover. And that was the fact that Jon Snow was no longer beside him. In fact, that boy was standing out in the middle of the street, staring down the dragon that was on a direct path for him. '_Fucking fool!_' Obery cursed, ready to burst out from his hiding place and tackle the boy out of the path of the dragon. '_I don't fancy taking a swim in these waters, but if I go fast enough I should have enough to take the both of us into the water and – Whatis he doing?_'

Any action he was about to take halted as he watched Jon casually raise his arm. This action allowed his right sleeve to roll back and revealed some sort of golden armlet on the boy's right forearm with a ruby gem in the center. A gem that started glowing brightly just as the dragon's maw opened and flames leapt forth, consuming the boy and everything around him.

Ducking back, Oberyn closed his eyes. _'Fuck…I got distracted! I couldn't save the boy! Damn it! What was he fucking thin_—' His thoughts were cut off as a torrent of wind rustled his clothes. The flames from the dragon weren't dissipating. If anything, they were gathering, right above where Jon had been standing.

The Prince of Dorne had seen and experienced a lot in his life, more than almost any could ever hope to see or experience. But the sight of the Bastard of Winterfell, standing amongst a raging vortex of flames with his hand held above his head, his face twisted into one of great concentration? That was something else. Something _new,_ even for him. With a yell rivaling any war cry he'd ever head, Jon turned, the vortex of flame following his movements as if a slave to his will. The flames formed into a ball and, launched like it was a stone out of a trebuchet right into the back end of the dragon. The beast of legend gave of a cry as it flailed in the air before crashing through several buildings.

After picking his jaw up off the ground, Oberyn was the first to react. Eyes bouncing continuously between the downed dragon and the boy, he slowly and cautiously approached the Bastard of Winterfell. "Alright, I'll bite. What in the Seven Hells did the sorcerer send you after that allowed you to do…_that?_"

"It's this talisman," Snow answered, his face looking more than slightly drained, but his eyes remaining in the direction where the dragon had fallen. "I'm not sure how, but it almost…enhances my Force powers to manipulate fire. But _only_ fire. Master Nox never spoke of anything like it before."

"Well, that's convenient," Dacey Mormont remarked, her mace at the ready as she took kept her eyes in the direction of the fallen dragon. "But please tell me you weren't dumb enough to use that thing on a dragon without knowing it would work."

"Well, I wasn't sure that it would work that well against dragonfire," the boy said before hastily adding. "But I did use it to kill a firewyrm with its own fire. At least I think I did. So, I just assumed that it would work as well against a dragon."

The ease with which he said drew many up short, no doubt as they remembered their first and only encounter with one of the most dangerous creatures in perhaps the entirety of the known world, now that dragons were extinct… Well, maybe not _completely_ extinct seeing as they were now facing one. But as Oberyn drew close enough to touch the boy, he had to reassess his original thoughts on him looking drained. Drained would be an understatement. He looked as if he'd just sprinted from Sun Spear to the Water Gardens during midday. '_Not surprising. While I might not know about this brand of magic the sorcerer and the boy use, there has always been one rule that all magic abides by. It's taxing. Those two have been using their magic nonstop for days to guide us and keep us safe. And Jon, by his own admission, has already finished fighting off firewyrm and now he just used his power to deflect dragon fire. A feat thought to be impossible!_'

"The boy has given us a chance," Oberyn called out, forcing himself out of his thoughts and back to the matter at hand. "He's brought the dragon to the ground, which gives us a chance to kill it."

"Wait, you want us to go on foot and hunt that fucking thing?" The Karstark lad all but shouted. "Did you see how fucking big that monster was!?"

"Yes," he nodded. "And while it is in the air, that big fucker will be impossible to kill without a heavy scorpion or ballista. So, our best – our _only – _chance to survive this is to try and kill it once it's on the ground where we can reach it."

"But how are we supposed to kill it?" Umber growled. "We might hate those dragon fuckers, but we know of them well enough. Their skin is tougher than heavy plate armor. Not to mention, you ever try and hunt a bear? You corner them and they get ten-times as vicious, which this beast now is. And not to mention, you need to drive your spear damn far into the bear in order to kill it. How the fuck are we supposed to get in close enough to not only stab it, but I doubt even our new Valyrian steel weapons will be able to get past _those_ scales."

"Master Nox's lightsaber," Jon spoke up, stopping the retort that was on the tip of Oberyn's tongue. "A lightsaber can cut through anything. I've seen him cut through steel, wood, even solid stone with little to no difficulty. If there is a weapon that can kill a dragon, it is that. Master Nox is far away but, I can sense he's returning."

"Then that's what we'll do," Oberyn decided, ending the discussion. "Snow will use his…magic to nullify the dragon fire. The rest of us will keep it occupied and once we get it to ground, we try and kill it. And if all else fails, we hold it off long enough for the sorcerer to get back and have him finish the job with—"

"Something's coming out of the mist!"

Turning, Oberyn squinted off into the distance of the mist clouding wall that was just barely visible that had once served to contain the city of Valyria. At first, he couldn't see anything through the mist. But that didn't last as he soon saw figures shaped oddly like men limping through the fog. Mishappen men with skin the color and texture of the very stone walls that surrounded them. And as if to truly make their situation any worse, he could hear the distinctive beating of heavy wings and the roaring of the dragon as it once again took to the sky.

"Fuck me," he muttered. "Just what we needed right now. Fucking stonemen."

The reaction from everyone was about what he'd expected as everyone, from noble to laymen and from man to woman, took a step back in fear and disgust. Grabbing the sleeves of his tunic and making sure they were fully covering his arms; he popped his collar up and then took a two-handed grip on his spear as he stepped forward. "Form lines! We fight in groups of ten to give others the chance to rest. Make sure every piece of exposed skin you have is covered in something before you step forward to fight."

No one moved to join him. No one save the one who couldn't as Snow proved to have the biggest set of balls as he rearranged his sleeves and drew the short Valyrian sword Nox had given him from the vault. "Not you, boy," he said, holding out his spear and blocking the boy's path. "You're the only one who can deal with that fucking dragon when it comes back around. The rest of us will keep the stonemen from reaching you."

The boy looked like he was about to protest, but a distant roar from the dragon still in the sky must've brought the situation they were now in around to the boy. And with little more than a nod, he moved back as his daughter, Asha Greyjoy, Dacey Mormont and the Small Jon all stepped forward with weapons held at the ready.

"Well, it appears you women have bigger balls than most," he smiled under his mask as the stonemen started picking up speed towards them as they advanced. "Let's just hope you are as skilled."

* * *

Lashing out with a high-spinning hook kick, Nox felt the attack find purchase against the face of the false-god, stunning the being as his Force-empowered limb sent him stumbling back. Capitalizing on the opening, Nox used a Force push to send the stumbling Balerion reeling head over heels down a small ravine. Reaching back, he grabbed hold of a boulder, easily lifting the nearly one-ton object over his head and sending it down the ravine. The false god had just barely managed to right itself in time to see the boulder approaching, and by then it was far too late to do anything but take the attack head on. Which resulted in the boulder passing almost effortlessly through him as it turned his body into a bloody red paste, forcing Balerion to once again expend the energy to create a new one rather than just repairing the old.

Knowing he had a moment, Nox let his sense of awareness expand. '_Almost there. Just a small distance further and this will end_.'

Feeling a disturbance, Nox ducked in time for Balerion's sword to pass over his head. Switching to form four, Nox twisted and turned his body, becoming the very weapon he wielded as he danced and parried around Balerion's desperate attacks.

"Die! Die! Die! Die already, you fucking slave!" the false god shouted as he continued chasing Nox, his blade finding nothing but air and the edge of his lightsaber as Nox stayed ahead of Balerion.

The once-man was powerful, there was no doubt about that. In fact, if the battle was to be decided by sheer power alone, Balerion would _probably_ have been able to best him. But power was only part of the battle. To be a true warrior, one had to be skilled enough to wield both the power and one's self effectively. And while the man was decently skilled with a blade, he could not combine his power and skill and transform them into something greater. At best, he could be considered on par with a high-ranking Lord of the Sith. Not even a Darth, let alone a Dark Council Member. The only reason why the fight had not already ended was because of his more than slightly annoying regeneration capabilities.

Deactivating his lightsaber, Nox twisted into an aerial as Balerion overextended a down sweep with his sword at his legs. Before his feet touched the ground, Nox hit Balerion with a Force push and used the recoil of the attack to flip and twist himself over backwards so that he landed on his feet facing the false god, his lightsaber activating the moment he solidified his stance on the ground. Digging the point of his lightsaber into the ground, Nox channeled a rivulet of dark side energy though the blade and into the ground. Dragging the lightsaber through the ground, Nox sent a wave of dust and superheated debris towards his adversary, temporarily blinding the still recovering Balerion and allowing Nox to once again get a killing strike in. This time piercing the being's heart, or at least where his heart should've been, before wrenching the blade out through his chest and under his arm.

Not giving his enemy the chance to recover, Nox flicked his left middle finger off his thumb on the lightsaber hilt, sending a concentrated burst of Force energy the size of a fist into the unwounded side of Balerion's chest. The concentrated strike hit the false god with the force of several tons packed into a few square inches, throwing the man back through the air for nearly thirty meters before his back struck a wall. The wall collapsed from the force of impact, covering the immediate area in a shower of debris composed of stone, mortar and wood. Raising his left hand, the newly freed clump of debris rose into the air a good fifty feet. Closing his fist, he compacted the debris into a single sphere before throwing it down on the false god, the mass just barely reaching terminal velocity before it impacted the ground where the false god still lay.

Throwing up a Force Barrier, Nox defended himself against the falling stone and wood that was thrown up into the air in result of the makeshift asteroid he'd just hurled down on his opponent. Once the debris had stopped falling, Nox let his barrier drop and calmly walked towards the broken wall. '_I'm actually impressed that he managed to go through this wall without disintegrating in a 'splat'again,_' he thought as he observed the hole that had created in the wall surrounding the ruined city of Valyria. _'Either he's durable, or this wall was not nearly as impressive as it looked. Although…considering they had dragons that could fly over any wall built, I'm sure they didn't really care if their constructs were structurally sound or not_.'

Walking over the debris, he calmly observed the swirling mass of dark side energy as Balerion once again reformed his body. "Your regeneration is slowing considerably, 'Balerion'," he said the name mockingly, jumping down from the pile of debris so that he could watch the finalization of the reformation. "I suppose that I _should_ welcome you home…But I know for a fact that the current tenants are not all that pleased with you, so I wouldn't really be expecting a warm reception here."

Once whole again, Balerion looked around wildly as he spun in the debris. Slowly, a low rumbling began in the creature's chest that quickly turned into a fully belly laugh. "Ahaha, so this was your great plan, slave? Bringing me to Valyria, my home, the place I have been unable to set foot into since my Ascension. And why? Did you think the Archon's spell would weaken me? Make me mortal? Ha! They are but toothless worms pretending to be dragons, when I am the only true dragon of Valyria!"

"Do you care to put that to the test?" Nox asked calmly. "The Archons gave their very lives to erect the barrier that has kept you barred from this place for nearly four hundred years. Are you so sure of your victory know that you are willing to put your will against not only mine, but of the lost Archons as well?"

The creature faltered. It was only for a split second, but Nox caught it. _'Good, all according to plan_.'

"_I do not fear those dead worms!_" Balerion shouted, and in the distance Nox could hear the undead dragon howl in response to his master's cry. "They are dead and gone! And their magic has worn off such that I can step foot in this city once more! And now, slave! You shall die!"

_'Jon. It's time_.'

* * *

Standing in the center of the twenty men at arms and nobles, Jon kept his eyes and his senses firmly skywards. Around him, the others fought to keep the stonemen away from him, which allowed him to keep his concentration on locating the beast overhead that was trying to fry them all alive. Sensing the dragon swooping lower through the fog once more, Jon focused on the talisman in his right hand as he prepared himself to once again fend off the dragonfire that could melt stone.

Concentrating on the talisman on his arm, he held his hand high as the dragon got close enough that he could see the beast's jaw open as the fire swelled within the back of its throat. Bracing himself for what he knew was coming, he kept himself fully focused on the dragon as the flames spewed out. The heat was almost unbearable, as well as the pressure that seemed to weigh on his shoulders as the gem on the talisman shined, giving him the strength and focus through some means he still didn't understand to hold the flames at bay. But this attack was different from the last, and vastly different from the very first onslaught. It was…well, _weaker_. He hadn't been able to notice it earlier. But now that it'd come to his attention, he could sense that with each pass the dragon made, the flames were getting weaker and weaker for some reason.

'_Am I getting stronger?_' he wondered as he directed the flames into the river water, quenching the flames. As if to answer his unasked question, his body answered him as one of his legs gave out and he dropped to a knee as darkness began creeping in on the corners of his vision.

"Jon!" several voices shouted at once as Jon struggled to regain his footing.

The plan, if one could call it that, had been going well for a time. The arrival of the stonemen had forced them to forgo going outside the walls of the Valyrian to fight the dragon in the open field. Which unfortunately left them boxed in with buildings to one side, water to the other and only a single path forward and back. Thankfully, the stonemen were neither numerous nor were they attacking from all directions, which allowed Prince Oberyn and the rest to prevent any of the diseased from reaching him. But it had also cost the group two more of their number to do so. Despite the almost insurmountable odds being sent against them in the form of the dragon and the stonemen, they were holding their own. But there was a problem. A major one.

"I'm alright," he forced out, doing his best to hide just how badly he was lying with that.

He was nearing his limit and he knew it. A lot of Master Nox's training had been focused on, what he called, surpassing his limits. Which usually meant running, lifting stones, or fighting until the point of physical exhaustion and then using the Force to either purge that exhaustion or to perform some other task. Other times, though, he would have Jon, Robb, and Arya use the Force until they fainted, usually by forcing them to hold stones several times heavier than a man in the air for hours on end. And having succumb to that form of training more than once, Jon knew that he would not be able to keep using the Force like this for long.

_'Jon. It's time_.'

The sudden voice in his mind sent a shock through him as if he'd been doused with a bucket of icy water. "Master?"

"The sorcerer is back?" Oberyn yelled as he speared a charging stoneman, then sidestepping to allow the once-man to fall on his face dead. "It's about time! Where is he?"

"Aye," Jon nodded, trying to not divide his attention too much from the dragon overhead as he searched for Master Nox. "He's…in the city again!"

"Good!" Umber yelled, cleaving a stoneman in half with his new Valyrian great sword while making sure to stay clear of the corpse when it fell to the ground. "Tell him to kill that god's damned dragon then!"

"It doesn't work like that!" Jon shouted back as the dragon descended once more. It was the truth, he wasn't sure how exactly Master Nox was able to speak to him in this manner, but it wasn't as if he was hearing him. It was more like…feelings and pictures from a book that left a message in his mind.

Fighting through the exhaustion screaming through his entire being, he channeled the Force into the talisman once more, just as the flames of the dragon descended upon them. '_The flames are getting weaker!_' he thought as he once again pushed the flames away from himself and the others. _'But…why?_'

"Then what the fuck are we supposed to do?" Asha asked her axes held at the ready, waiting for the next group of stonemen to jump out from the ruined buildings surrounding them.

As if to answer Asha's question, the sound of something crashing through multiple walls, followed quickly by the sound of a building collapsing brought Jon and the rest around to face down a pathway leading into the city. Something, gods only knew what, had crashed into a home less than a few hundred paces from where they were. They weren't given long to wonder either as a dark…mist almost, came from the wreckage and formed into almost arrow-like objects before firing off into the distance like they'd been loaded into a ballista.

The bolts of mist didn't make it far as they simply…ceased to exist midflight. Then Lord Nox was there, his blood-red glowing blade alight in his hands as he ran directly into the building the dark figure had broken through not a moment before. Within moments of him disappearing, the dark figure was flung out of the wreckage and across the wide street into the buildings on the opposite side. Once again, Lord Nox appeared right behind the figure, only… By the old gods, Jon had seen Master Nox fight in the past. Hells, he'd sparred against him for years and he'd always thought that he could somewhat hold his own against his Master. But now, watching Lord Nox defy almost every law of nature as he all but flew through the air, performed flips and turns that even mummers would think impossible…Jon knew without a shadow of a doubt that Master Nox had only been playing with everyone who'd ever sparred against him in Winterfell.

"No time for daydreaming!" Prince Oberyn shouted, shaking Jon and several others out of the trance they'd fallen into, so enthralled were they with the battle between Lord Nox and the strange figure in the distance.

Clenching his fist, Jon forced himself to look away from the fight between his Master and the unknown figure and turned himself back to the task at hand. '_I'm not angry he's been holding back!_' Jon said to himself, whether he was trying to convince himself that or not, he wasn't even sure. '_But now, now I have a true goal to reach! I will reach Master Nox's level! And it starts now!_'

Eyeing the dragon, Jon concentrated on the talisman, pouring as much power as he could into the object as he could as the ancient beast once again descended from the sky. Only this time, it wasn't heading for Jon and the others. No, this time it was heading for Master Nox instead.

"It's heading for Lord Nox!" Jon shouted, breaking off from the rest as he sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him towards his mentor and Master.

The world seemed to almost slow as he watched the dragon draw closer and closer to Lord Nox. The ground shook and several ruined buildings lining the street collapsed as the dragon landed onto the street, its body acting as a barrier blocking Jon's path, preventing him from reaching Lord Nox.

"Master Nox!" Jon yelled as he watched on, helpless, as the dragon's head lowered, and its maw opened.

Dragon fire erupted from the beast, covering the street and all the nearby buildings that surrounded Master Nox and his advisory. '_No!_' Jon thought, his steps faltering as he watched the man he admired, trained under, and looked up too as a second father was blanketed in a wave of fire. '_No!_'

_"Stop worrying so much, acolyte! If it was this easy to kill me, I would've died a long time ago."_

Jon could've wept with relief at hearing Lord Nox's voice in his head once more. And even more so as a Master Nox leapt out of the flames and landed on top of the nearest building that would put him above the level of the flames.

_'Now, Jon! Use what you have! Trust in the Force! And it will set you free!_'

Jon didn't need telling twice. Channeling what little strength he had left, he forced his legs to move as he ran head long towards the dragon. Behind him, he could hear the Prince Oberyn, Asha, and the others yelling for him to get back, but he paid none of them any heed as he focused solely and only on the black eyes of the dragon. Sliding feet first, Jon could nearly feel the heat of the dragon's scales as its spiked tail passed over his body. Slapping his hand on the ground and pushing with the Force, Jon threw himself into the air, twisting his body in the air as the dragon's maw snapped shut in the air where he'd once been. Reaching out a hand, he grabbed hold of one of the dragon's horns, using it to stop his motion and pull himself down on top of the dragon's head.

He could feel the rage, the hatred…the pain coming from the powerful beast beneath his feet as the creature began bucking and thrashing, trying to toss Jon from his head. Putting his faith into the Force fully as he held on with only one hand, Jon reached above his head blindly with his right hand and…felt something solid strike the palm of his outstretched hand. Pulling his hand down, Jon could only gawk at what was in his hand. '_Lord Nox's….lightsaber…It's…It's lighter than I thought it would be_.'

_'Stop daydreaming, boy, and finish that beast!_'

Copying the movements of Lord Nox, Jon pressed his thumb down on a specific spot on the hilt. The blood-red blade shot forth, startling Jon. For just a moment, he could do little more than stare at the light coming from the blade. _'It's…so light_.' Reversing his grip on the hilt so the blade was pointed towards his feet, Jon stared down at the top of the dragon's head he was standing upon. Letting go of the beast's horn, he grabbed the hilt with both hands and brought the sword down with as much force as he could.

The lightsaber cut through the hide and bone of the dragon's head with only slight resistance, like he was using a freshly sharpened knife to cut through boiled leather. Beneath him, the dragon let a cry of agony as Jon fought to keep his balance atop the beast while cutting deeper and deeper into the dragon's head. Slowly, the bucking of the dragon slowed as the beast collapsed, its head flopping down heavily on the ground and throwing Jon from his spot.

Ducking his head, he let his shoulder absorb the hit from the ground as he rolled just as Lord Nox had taught him. Coming out of the roll he brought the lightsaber to bare as he turned, ready to face the dragon once more. Only…the dragon wasn't moving. The ancient beast was merely, laying on the ground less than a few paces from him. One blackened eye open and staring at him.

**_"End it!"_** The voice that rang in his head was louder than the bells of Winterfell, nearly bringing him to his knees as he fought against covering his ears. "End this!"

Shivering, he met the eye of the dragon that was staring at him. '_That…That was the dragon. I…I didn't think dragons could talk_.' Cautiously, Jon met the dragon's one remaining eye as he reached out to the downed beast through the Force. What he felt nearly made him loose his stomach. Pain. No, anguish. Fear and…longing, a longing to rest. '_It wants to die,_' he realized, keeping the lightsaber held firmly in front of himself as he slowly approached the dragon. _'It's…very existence is pain. What…Why? What…What happened to it to bring it to this state?_'

Reaching the dragon, he transferred the lightsaber to his left hand and gently laid his right hand on the dragon's scaled head. '_You…You're already dead,_' Jon realized with a start, looking down into the dark pool that was the dragon's eye. '_You're dead but…your rider has been forcing you to stay alive, somehow. Stuck between life and death, but neither one nor the other. Gods…why?_'

Letting his hand drop, he took a moment to compose himself before clutching the lightsaber with both hands and raising it above his head. '_May you finally find rest,' _he sent out to the dragon before bringing the lightsaber down once more upon the dragon's head.

* * *

Hearing the dying cries of the dragon brought a smile to Nox's face as he sensed the intoxicating fear and despair coming off the would-be 'god' of Valyria as his dragon was brought low by a mere boy.

"No!" Balerion yelled, his movements becoming more and more frantic as he felt his companion being ripped away from him. "No! This cannot be! I am a god! I am immortal! You shall no—!"

Having grown more than tired of the monologue, Nox, now without his lightsaber, calmly brought his hands forward and unleashed a blast of Force lightning into Balerion's chest. The would-be god tried to fight back against the current, but as he was now, there was absolutely nothing he could do.

"I told you before we began that your ritual was a failure," he said after ending the onslaught and letting Balerion drop to his knees. "But I never specified why I said that, did I? You _did_ manage to collect the souls of your followers and the slaves you sacrificed and added their power to your own. But you made one egregious mistake. You collected their power, instead of absorbing it. Which means that all those thousand plus souls within you have retained their individuality, even after all this time."

"There is no difference!" Balerion shouted, rushing at Nox with his blade held high.

It was almost pitiful with ease that he was able to sidestep the attack before burying his armored fist into the creature's gut, dropping it to the ground where it was left gasping desperately for air. "The fact that you do not recognize the difference only serves to prove my point, idiot."

Not even bothering to dodge what he knew was coming, Nox simply used the Force to strengthen the palm of his hand and caught the edge of the Valyrian steel blade as Balerion tried to cut him with a weak backhanded strike. "What?" Balerion gasped, staring dumbly at the edge of his blade, held firmly in Nox's grip. "This…This cannot be happening! I am a god! You cannot be more powerful than me!"

Wrenching the blade from the would-be god's grip, Nox casually tossed the blade aside before delivering a full arching kick straight to the man's jaw. He could feel the bone break under the pressure of his foot as Balerion was lifted off his knees and sent careening into a nearby wall.

"At the start of this fight, you would've been correct in saying that I was not as powerful as you," Nox lectured as he squatted down a fair distance from Balerion and watched him through his sightless eyes as he tried to reform his jaw. "But, like many before you, your pride and belief in your supposed immortality led to your downfall. I must thank you for not even bothering to block my first couple of attacks, by the way. That allowed me to not only form a theory, but to test it as well. Do you want to know what I learned? I learned that you imprisoned the souls within your body and then started to channel the power from those spirits. While this method does allow one to become more powerful, there is a problem. A problem that exists with all prisons. In that prisoners can _escape_."

He could sense Balerion startle as fear began pouring off the fool. "Utter dragon shit!"

"I have no reason to lie to you. And you know that I'm telling the truth." Nox replied dismissively as he advanced on the now cowering being. "Each time I delivered a fatal blow to you, I weakened your hold on the souls imprisoned within you. And then you did me a favor by overextending yourself by manipulating the stonemen and using a fair portion of your power to reanimate your dragon. But now, your dragon is dead, and the power you used to reanimate it is gone. And what little power you have left, you need to use to keep your spirit anchored to this plane. In short, your powerless now."

Growling, Balerion threw his hands forward, dark mist forming in the palms of his hands. "I'll show you powerless, slave!"

Nox didn't even bother trying to form a defense. The attack was so pitiful that the dark mist simply bounced off him before dissipating harmlessly into the air. "As I said, powerless."

Holding his hand above his head, Nox began pulling heavily on the dark side of the Force as he prepared himself to call his wrath down upon the fool. "Unfortunately for you, you still have quite a few souls left to help anchor you. So, I'm just going to have to kill you again and again and again until all those souls you imprisoned are set free. And you are once again mortal."

"Wait!" Balerion screamed, hands held out pleadingly as the being scrambled to get to its knees before him. "I – I will swear myself to you, my Lord! My knowledge will be yours! You will be able to take over the world! And I will serve at your side for eternity!"

If the being expected Nox to be moved by his plea, well, he was correct that it moved him. But not in the direction it'd been hoping. Snarling at the kneeling man, Nox paused what he had been preparing and opted instead to simply lay into Balerion with a blast of Force lightning.

"Did you think that kind of plea would work on me?" he all but yelled as he carefully maintained the current of the lightning to optimize the pain but making sure it wouldn't kill him further. "You sacrificed thousands to get here. Destroyed an entire civilization in your pursuit of power! Now, you dare to plead for mercy! How fucking pathetic! At least have the decency to die like a fucking _man_ and not a sniveling _coward!_ And besides, I already made a deal. A deal to end your pathetic existence for good."

Ending the attack, he once again raised his hand towards the sky. As he did, he could feel the powers within him shift once, twice, thrice and again and again until the seven beings he'd contracted temporarily separated themselves from him so they could be revealed before Balerion. For his part, the would-be god could do little else but whimper as he stared at the now eight faces glaring down at him.

"I told you. Had you used your full power from the moment you saw me, you potentially _could've_ defeated me. That was not a chance I was willing to take. So, before confronting you, I took my time to track down the seven Archons who gave their lives and bound their spirits to the barrier to protect the souls of Valyria from you. It didn't take much to get them to agree to be temporarily bound. I just had to give them my word that they would have a front row seat at seeing you being obliterated. In return, they would grant me their powers. And now, now it is time for me to uphold my end of my bargain. May you rot in whatever hell you believe in, God of Valyria."

He could feel as the seven Archons gave up their forms and returned to him, boosting his connection to the Force like a dam that had all its floodgates opened simultaneously. The sky above him crackled and boomed as lightning arched through the sky and the wind began to blow fiercely enough to kick up dust and even start to move rocks. On the ground, the false god begged again and again for its life, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Nox let the storm of Force energy saturate everything around him. Dropping his hand, Nox unleased the strongest Force Storm he'd ever conjured.

The wind surrounding them whipped up into a frenzy, tearing buildings apart as its cyclone spread around the two of them. Force lightning fell all around the two of them, reducing everything to ash and sand before crystalizing it due to the extreme heat before vaporizing the crystallization once more. And in the center of it all, the false god convulsed on the ground, screaming as loud as the being could as its body was torn down to a molecular level. Only to be reformed by its own power, just so that it could be torn asunder once more. As he poured more and more power into the onslaught, he could even feel the fabric of space and time around the would-be god begin to tear, ripping into the creature even more deeply than the lightning. And, through it all, Nox stood his ground, acting as judge, jury, and executioner on the one who brought about the Doom to Valyria. Nox had no idea just how long he remained, standing amongst the storming winds and lighting of the Force as the creature sufferer. But, eventually, the last of the souls held captive within the creature were ripped from him, leaving Balerion defenseless. Snarling, Nox focused harder on the being, condensing the Force energy around him as he ripped his connection to the Force from him before using the Force to tear him apart cell by cell until there was nothing left of him. Physically and in the Force.

Letting go of the power, Nox leaned his head back as the storm slowly started to dissipate around him. As it did, he could feel as the seven archons left him, only to reappear before him in their astral forms.

"Our pact is done, sorcerer from the stars," Archon Dracequitem said, standing in the middle of the archons. "The fool is gone."

"Aye, he is."

Nox was tempted, Force knows he was tempted. But he knew the risks of keeping the spirits bound to him indefinitely like this. While the Force Walking Technique allowed one to bind a Force ghost, there was a price to pay. Binding four Sith Lords had nearly killed him and would have killed him had he not all but remade his body down to a molecular level. Binding seven beings of nearly equal power…Well, that was not going to end well.

Going to his knees, Nox lowered his head on as he called upon the power within him that he hadn't even known he was capable of until he met Ashara, and later Nyra. "May my light, what little there is, redeem your spirits in the Force. And may you find peace as you leave this plane and become one with the Force."

One by one, the spirits of the last Archons of Valyria glowed brightly before dissipating as they became one with the Force. Soon, only Dracequitem was left standing before Nox. As his body began to glow, the Archon asked, "The boy. The one whose presence you guarded when we first met. The one you sent to the breeding grounds. Is he—?"

"He is," Nox stated, cutting the spirit off.

He could practically feel the relief and joy that was coming off from the spirit as it began to disappear. "In the end, our will was done. Train him well, sorcerer. And see him safe." With his piece said, the last Archon of Valyria became one with the Force, and Nox was left alone.

_'Well, that's that I guess,_' he thought, rising to his feet and rolling his neck as he took a moment to study the land now that the Archons and the false god were gone. '_The land is still heavily tainted in the dark side of the Force. And without the Archons' protection, the various monsters that call this land home will be able to start claiming parts of the ruins here. But give it a century, maybe two, and this land might actually start to become something close to habitable for again_.'

Turning his back on the where the Archons had disappeared from, Nox made his way across the freshly ruined landscape towards where the rest of the expedition was standing. '_Perhaps that was a bit overkill_,' he thought as he listened to his boots crunch through the ground, which had been partially transformed to glass. From what he could tell, everything within a half mile radius of where he'd been standing had been reduced to nothing. There wasn't even any evidence left of the structures that had once surrounded him. '_But highly satisfying. Now, I know that creating a Force Storm of such magnitude is indeed possible. And not only that, but at that level of intensity,it was warping time and space, creating a wormhole effect. Interesting. I wonder if such a phenomenon could be controlled._'

Standing near the edge of the ring of destruction he'd caused were the surviving members of his expedition force. Each of whom, from Oberyn to his acolyte and the sailors, were all staring at him with varying degrees of shock, awe, and fear.

"What's our status? Have the ships been loaded and are they still in one piece?" he asked as he stepped out of the ring of destruction before his men and women.

"Gods, that's the first thing you say?" Oberyn asked with a forced chuckle as Nox calmly brushed some dust and debris off his overcoat. "People say that I like to showboat on occasion, but you, sorcerer? You give a whole new meaning to the word."

"That was not me 'showboating'," he said, only slightly lying. "That was simply the level necessary to destroy the fool who was responsible for all of this. Now, what is our status?"

"We…We still have all the boats and a skiff Prince Oberyn managed to find and repair, Master," his acolyte said, tentatively stepping forward and holding his lightsaber out for him to take back. "But there was a mutiny and, with the dragon and stonemen as well, we only have half of our original number, my Master. If we want to take everything with us, we'll have to tow the boats down the river."

Taking his lightsaber back, Nox gave it a quick check to make sure Jon hadn't damaged it in some manner before reattaching it to his belt on his left side. "Then that is exactly what we'll do. Spilt the boats in half, three will carry our spoils along with this skiff and those of us still alive will be in the remaining three. Scour the docks for chains or ropes or anything that we can use to lash the boats together. Now."

"You heard the sorcerer!" Asha yelled, being one of the first to break out of her stupor as she rounded on the others. "He's given you lot an order. Now get your asses in gear before I put my boot up it! Now!"

Except for Jon and Prince Oberyn, everyone all but jumped as their senses came back to them. Then it almost seemed like a race to see who could get away the fastest leaving only the two men and the boy at the edge of the ruins.

"Jon," Nox said, turning towards his acolyte. "Show me the talisman."

Jon hesitated only a moment before rolling up his right sleeve, revealing the talisman attached to his arm. "I see," Nox said simply after only a moment's investigation. He had a pretty decent idea about just what the talisman would do, but it never hurt to confirm one's suspicion. "I must admit that I have not seen many items like this in all of my travels, and _that_ is saying something. For the Dragon Lords to have been able to construct such an object, perhaps they were more Force adept then I had originally theorized."

"And, for those of us who don't speak your cryptic tongue, sorcerer, care to translate?" Prince Oberyn asked, eyeing the talisman on Jon's arm warily.

Reaching out, Nox laid a single finger against the talisman. "A full explanation would more than likely leave you even more confused then you are now. Suffice to say, when the Dragon Lords crafted this talisman, they imbued it with the Force with the purpose to give the wearer the ability to control flames, even those from a dragon. Such Force constructs are not unheard of, but it takes a certain level of knowledge of the Force in order to achieve such a specific result. Perhaps, yes. If they were able to manipulate the Force to such a degree and create an object with such a specific purpose, they could also…Is it that simple? It must be… Interesting. Hopefully, one of the tomes we collected will have the answers. But then the question would become how to mass produce it without a sufficient heat source. Hmm."

"Um, Master Nox?" Jon called out tentatively, breaking Nox out of his thoughts.

"It is nothing," Nox responded. '_At least not now, but soon it could be much more_.' "And what of the crystal you gathered? Let me see it."

This time Jon didn't hesitate in removing a small coin purse he had tied to the waist of his pants. His acolyte didn't even need to open it for Nox to know what was inside. But even knowing what his impressive acolyte had found didn't fully prepare Nox to see the small finger-size kyber crystal in Jon's outstretched hand. It wasn't the fact that Jon had found a kyber crystal that had surprised Nox so much so. While rare outside of Ilum, other veins of kyber crystals were known to exist elsewhere. No, what truly surprised Nox was the fact that the crystal in Jon's hand glowed with a steady white glow. A feat only obtained when a corrupted kyber crystal became purified.

'_But Jon couldn't have purified the crystal_,' he thought, examining the crystal through the Force. '_To do so takes a tremendous amount of time and energy, not to mention a level of understanding of the Force that is currently beyond my young acolyte. Which means the Valyrian's either corrupted a kyber crystal and then purified it somehow, or they took an already corrupted crystal and purified it. Perhaps I was a little too hasty in dismissing the spirits of the Archons before I could bleed them for more information_.'

"Do you know what you have in your hand Jon," he asked rhetorically. He hadn't yet explained to Jon or any of his acolytes just what a kyber crystal even was, seeing as how he doubted that he would ever encounter another outside of the lightsabers he'd brought with him when he crash landed on this planet.

"No, Master Nox," Jon answered honestly. "But I could feel it through the Force. Like—Like it was calling out too me. And…it feels like your lightsaber, on—"

"Prince Oberyn, perhaps you could assist the gathering and disposing of our dead," Nox interrupted his acolyte as he turned to face the Prince of Dorne. "You've been a great asset to this expedition so far, and my acolyte and I have words that must only be said between the two of us."

On the outside, Oberyn didn't appear to have registered anything as he gave Nox a polite nod before moving away to go about the task. Nox though knew that was furthest thing from the truth. Oberyn was sharp. And Nox didn't forget the primary reason as to why the Prince was even in Essos in the first place. To gather knowledge about Nox and his powers. And while his display did give Oberyn a good idea about just what he could do, Jon had just given the Prince a clue as to how some of his abilities could work.

"Master, what—?"

"You need to learn to watch that mouth of yours Jon." Nox lectured his acolyte as he used the Force to fashion himself a chair of sorts before sitting down. Between the journey to Valyria and the fight with Balerion, even with the aid of the Archons, he was starting to feel the familiar signs of fatigue beginning to wear him down. "Oberyn is not our ally. Not yet. And he is not a Sith nor a Force user like yourself or your Stark brethren. Yet you have just given him vital information that is not known. That is not acceptable. You must watch your tongue in the future. Anything you say, even if it might seem trivial to you, can be used against you by your enemies if they are cunning enough. Or even your friends, if they are ambitious enough."

Jon seemed thoroughly confused as he tried to put together what had just happened. "But…What—?"

"What is this?" Nox asked, motioning towards his lightsaber.

"Your lightsaber," Jon replied without hesitation.

"Yes, now, have you ever seen a weapon like this before? Or do you know of any who can create this type of weapon?"

Frowning, Jon shook his head. "No."

"And that is because no one besides myself and those I decide to teach in the future will know how to make them. Let alone what needs to go into their making," Nox lectured, leaning forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees. "But one of the key parts to creating a lightsaber, the very _core_ of a lightsaber in fact, is the utilization of a kyber crystal. A fact that you just now hinted to Prince Oberyn with your offhand comment. Now, it is highly unlike, improbable even, that some smith and scholar working together could manage to hit upon how to make a lightsaber based on what Prince Obery now knows, or some weapon that is similar to a lightsaber. But if it ever did happen, what do you think would happen once those weapons start to become as common place as, say, Valyrian steel? Don't answer right away. Think first. Think of what my lightsaber can do, then think of it in the hands of those unworthy of wielding it. And what that would do to the lay of the land."

He could see the wheels turning in Jon's head as he thought everything through. "I'm…I'm sorry, Master. I'll be careful with what I say in the future."

"Good," Nox nodded. The boy was learning but he still had a long way to go. "Despite your slip of the tongue just now, you have done exceedingly well. Kneel."

Jon's eyes widened as Nox stood while he went down to a knee before him. Resting a hand on Jon's head, Nox added a little more flare than he usually did to his acceptance. "You have stood against that which many cannot. You have survived your Trials and come out stronger than you were. You still have a long way to go, but you are no longer an acolyte, Jon Snow. From this day forth, you are now my apprentice. Rise."

He could practically feel the pride and joy bursting off the young boy, but thankfully he was at least able to keep most…well, _some_ of it from showing on his face. "Um, what now, Master?"

"Now?" he questioned. "Now, you are going to help Prince Oberyn with the last details on loading our boats and getting ready to leave this place."

Jon nodded. "And what will you be doing, Master?"

"Me?" he asked, a grin coming across his face as he thought of what was to come. "I have a few degenerates to teach a lesson to. Oh, and by the way, that other thing you found in the hatchery? Make sure you keep it safe and hidden. No telling what will happen if it becomes common knowledge about what else you found."

* * *

Catching himself with his hands on his knees, Theo Snow – or Theo Pyke, when he was out of the North and back where he belonged on the Iron Islands – resisted the urge to rip the blasted leather mask off his face so that he could breathe properly. But despite his deep hatred for the sorcerer, he couldn't deny that the man was intelligent, frighteningly so. And because of that, when the sorcerer spoke of the dangers of Valyria, Theo listened and obeyed. Even if he had been planning on stabbing the man in the back ever since before the _Sea Wolf_ set sail from White Harbor.

Glancing to his left and right, Theo took stock of the few that were left who he'd managed to convince to go along with his little plot. Of the ten he'd convinced to follow his lead in leaving the sorcerer and taking the treasures for themselves, only four, including himself, remained. There was some bastard, from the Riverlands he thought, and two others from the North. The Riverlands fuck was bleeding, curtesy of the Red Viper's cunt of a daughter. And one of the men from the North was nursing a broken arm, thanks to that Mormont bitch's mace which she'd taken from the Vault. The other six were all dead. Killed when that skeleton-fucking-dragon decided to show up and breathe fire down on the ruins. And then there were the fucking stonemen that came right behind the beast…

_'Two of us are lame…and we're weighed down_,' he thought, his eyes glancing to the leather saddle bag he had hanging around his shoulders. A saddle bag that was filled to the brim with more gold than he'd ever seen in his entire life. Enough gold to set him up with his own ship and his own crew. This bag was his future…and he would be damned if he would let it out of his sight. '_Our best…and only – hope is that the fucking dragon and stonemen managed to finish those noble fuckers, the sorcerer, and bastard boy off_.'

"Never should have listen to ya…Fuckin Iron Born cunt."

Glaring to his left, Theo spared the Riverlander a sneer. "You were just as ready to betray the fucking sorcerer as I was. So, don't give me no shit just because you wanted to get your fucking cock wet in that Dornish cunt."

"Probably couldn't even get his cock wet," one of the northerners chuckled as if there was something amusing about their current situation. "Bet that one is as dry as the deserts those snakes call home."

"Cunts, cocks, fucking, gold…none of it fucking matters right now, just in case none of you pieces of shit realize how deep of shit we're fucking in," the other Northerner spat, surprising Theo as he actually spoke a semblance of sense. "We've all seen the horrors of this godless land, and now we're stuck in the middle of it, alone, without the fucking sorcerer to guide us and no boats to hide on."

"We won't be out here for long," Theo countered, resting his back against the rocks they were resting behind. "Between that dragon and the fuckin stonemen, no way those noble pricks survived. And even if they did… Well, they won't stay here long. All we need do is hide out here a day and then go back. If they're dead, we loot their corpses and take the boats. Then continue with the plan to convince the others on the _Sea Wolf_ to turn on the fat fuck, and then the _Sea Wolf_, the treasure, and the path to Valyria will be ours to sell to the richest Lords and Ladies in Essos. We'll live like fucking kings still. Mark my words."

"And what if they're _not_ dead?" the riverlander challenged. "If the…the sorcerer ain't dead… What then?"

Shrugging, Theo tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. "Then we wait until they're gone. Fashion a raft out of all the rubble that the Viper found along the docks and make our way out to Essos. Either way, we still get to leave here with as much coin, jewels, and Valyrian steel as we can carry. I doubt the sorcerer, if he is even still alive, will care about us. All we need ta do is hide and wait."

"I wouldn't be too sure about me not caring."

Theo felt all the blood in his body freeze as it suddenly felt like he was standing naked atop the Wall.

'_No…It can't be_,' he half whispered, half prayed to the Drowned God as he slowly turned around as his sight traveled upwards. But the Drowned God could not hear his prayers, not in this forsaken land. For squatting atop the very rockpile he was leaning against was none other than the Northern Sorcerer. His rumored eyeless face hidden behind his ever-present cloth and the leather mask he made them all wear. "You know, while hide and seek isn't my favorite game, I'm not all that bad at it either. Wouldn't you lot agree?"

Theo had heard stories from the ones who'd survived the massacre of The Pyke. Tales of the sorcerer being the Storm God reborn. That he destroyed the very walls of Castle Pyke with thunder and lightning he'd summoned forth. How his sword of fire cut through wood, steel, and leather as if they were nothing. Of how battle-hardened Ironborn now pissed themselves out of fear just from the thought of getting too close to him. But Theo had always thought the stories to be horse shit, especially after traveling with the man for months. But now, staring up at that mask and cloth covered face, Theo felt as if he were staring into the very eyes of the Storm God and the Stranger of the Seven, had they somehow combined into this one vengeful being.

"Run!" he hardly even recognized his own voice, and he wasn't even sure just how he managed to pull the dagger from his sheath and throw it at the sorcerer. All he knew was that one moment he was staring down death and now he was running for his very life.

_'Fucking – Shit…! Ass-fucking nobles!_' he cursed, squinting as he tried his best to see as the land became darker and darker. '_Fucking Balon Greyjoy ordering me to come! Fucking sorcerer!Fuck that Greyjoy cunt! Bet she's fucking the sorcerer and that's why she didn't join us! She probably sucks his cock and kisses his ass whenever he tells her too! She's nothing but a fucking puppet he's going to send back to the Iron Isl—_' "Ahh fuck!"

His screams echoed as the ground beneath his feet gave way to nothing. He could feel the air rushing past as he fell deep into darkness, his hands reaching desperately for anything to break his fall. And suddenly it ended as his back hit the ground, driving the air from him. "Fuck," he coughed, rolling over and noticing that he wasn't the only one who'd fallen into this pit as the other three had joined him. Getting his hands under him, he tried to clear his head as his hand…slipped across the ground. Despite his slightly dazed state, he could immediately tell that that wasn't normal…_whatever it was_ he'd put his hand in.

"What the fuck?" one of the others mumbled, lifting his hand, which was covered is some…strange substance. "What is that fucking stench! And what the fuck is this shite?"

"That 'shite' is a viscus secretion from a rather unpleasant creature that calls this area it's home."

Looking up, Theo found the sorcerer, once again squatting above them all. Only this time he was on the edge of the hole that they'd fallen into. And hole which seemed to be as deep as four men standing atop one another. Turning away from the sorcerer, he tried to find some way of getting out of this hole, but the dim light barely provided them with enough light to see much of anything in the hole they were stuck in. Quickly giving up on looking around, Theo yelled up at the bastard, "What the fuck are you on about cunt?" as he was trying to get to his feet…only to slip in the strange substance.

With the dim sky light backing him, Theo could do little more than watch as the sorcerer picked up a stick of some sort and scraped one end around the inside of the hole, collecting the strange substance on the end. "This slime is a mucus secreted from a slug-like creature. And that smell you noted is a compound that, if I had to guess, is a type of petrochemical. In other words, it is highly flammable. Shall we test that theory?"

The air hissed as the sorcerer's strange fire-blade came to life. Holding the stick in one hand, the sorcerer brought the fire-blade to the end of the stick he'd rubbed inside the hole, and to Theo's fear, the stick burst into fire as if it were coated in oil. "Interesting. _Highly_ flammable. And the gel consistency isn't affected by heat. In fact, the heat almost seems to be hardening the gel, making it cling even more tightly to whatever is on fire. Interesting defense mechanism. The dragons were the alpha predators of this land…so these creatures developed a natural defense against them by fighting fire with fire. So, if the dragons burned them or tried to eat them, their secretions would ignite, burning and sticking to whatever killed them. Makes one not want to mess with them. Such a curious evolutionary trait."

"What the fuck are you on about, sorcerer?" Theo shouted, finally rising to his feet and looking around. If this shit did burn like the sorcerer was showing, then Theo _really_ did not like the way the sorcerer was holding that torch so close to the edge of the pit. "You…You fucking caught us. We surrender."

"Surrender?" the sorcerer asked, his head turning back towards them. "Oh, forgot you lot were there. Sorry about that. I tend to get carried away when I find something fascinating. Oh, and as for your surrender, that's going to be a 'no'."

"No?" one of the Northern men barked. "I – I'll take the Black for my crimes! You – You serve the Starks! I've decided to take the Black! So, you're honor-bound to see me to the Wall!"

The fire-blade disappeared as the sorcerer stood to his full height. "Am I? While it is true that I do serve Lord Stark, that is primarily because one: I like the man. And two: for the time being, our goals align. But that does not mean that I share Lord Stark's sense of honor. You lot have been planning this mutiny with the others since before we departed Braavos. I know you lot planned on leaving the rest of us to die. That you planned on using the riches of Valyria to make the other crewmembers of the _Sea Wolf_ turn against Ser Manderly. I also know that you either planned on either selling Lady Talisa and Lady Ellaria into slavery or turning them into your own version of Salt Wives. And I also know that each of you were sent to White Harbor to spy on the North. You, the Riverlander, were sent by House Frey. You were sent by the Lords of Skagos. You were sent by the Lords of the Three Sisters. And you, loudmouth, were sent by Balon Greyjoy. Each of you had orders to sabotage the expedition or to make sure I never returned to the North. So, what makes you think that I would show you mercy now?"

Theo felt his blood run even colder, if that was even possible. "Horse shit!"

"Didn't you find it odd?" the sorcerer continued. "That you lot were always thrown together during the voyage? I knew that you were all planning on trying to kill me and the others, even if you didn't know that about each other. I planned this all from the very start. I made sure you traitors were always together. I even gave slight…encouragement to your planning. _I_ was the one who planted the idea of leaving me to rot here in Valyria."

With each word, Theo found himself involuntarily taking a step back until his back was pressed against the slime covered wall of the pit. He didn't want to believe the sorcerer…but…it all fit. He hadn't even questioned the fact that his bunk, isolated in one of the lower levels of the ship, was with so many others that were of similar mindset to his own. And he hadn't even thought twice when all of them eagerly jumped at the chance to join the expedition…Nor had he baulked when the suggestion came about that, instead of stabbing the man in the back, that they would leave him to die in Valyria. _'No…He's spewing horse shit! He—He couldn't have planned all of this!_'

"Yes, I _did_ plan all of this, Theo Pyke." The words made his breath catch as he suddenly couldn't breathe. "You see, I knew it would require a decent amount of manpower to get to Valyria. However, the same amount of manpower would not be needed to leave. In fact, keeping the same number would be a nuisance as it would mean that I would have to leave some of the lost knowledge of Valyria behind. And Force only knows when I'll be able to come back here to gather more. So, the most obvious solution is that I needed to leave with fewer men than which I came with. And you and your accomplices provided the perfect solution to that. After all, no one will question the loss of traitors. And speaking of which, I suppose it's time we wrap this up. If I were you, I wouldn't let this touch the ground."

Time slowed as the sorcerer held the torch over the pit and then let it go. The others with him started yelling as they tried to get away, but he knew it was no use. This slime was everywhere. Which meant there was only one chance for survival. Tracking the falling flame, Theo waited until just the right moment before snatching the torch from the air.

"Hahahahaha!" he laughed, holding the torch high and glaring at the sorcerer. "Is that the best you can do, cunt!?"

"No," the sorcerer shrugged. "I can do far worse than that. But, if I were you, I would be far more worried about _those_ things, especially as I am no longer holding them back. I wonder if they'll simply eat you or if they'll use you as incubation hosts for their young. But, eh… a study for another time, I guess. Oh, and by the way, I do believe they are attracted to heat signatures… So, if I were you, I would find a safe place to put that torch down."

A loud chittering noise followed by the sound of flesh tearing and a scream of agony brought Theo and his torch around. One of the Northmen was on the ground…covered in…large slug-like creatures nearly half as tall as a man. And when one pulled back away from the screaming man, it came with a strip of the Northman's flesh as if he'd been flayed.

"Fuck!" Theo shouted, drawing his dagger in his hand as he back peddled away from the dying and screaming man.

Hearing more chittering from behind, he whirled about just in time to duck as another slug flew through the air, it's maw open like a fucking lamprey, showing off rows of thick serrated teeth as it passed him by, only to land on the chest of the Riverlander, bringing the poor fucker to the ground where he was immediately swamped with other slugs coming up from the ground. "Fuck this!" The other Northman yelled, going from the pit wall.

"We can climb this! Just need to find the right f–! Oh fuck!" A piece of the pit wall gave way, revealing no less than two more of the slug creatures which immediately lurched out, one going for the man's face and the other going for his crotch.

"Fuck!" Theo yelled, dodging his way through the pit and trying to block out the sights and sounds of the others being torn to pieces. Holding the torch above his eyes, he looked to where the sorcerer had been standing, prepared to get on his very knees and beg for his life, only to find empty space.

"Fuck," he murmured, not caring as his fear drove him to piss his pants as he turned back to the pit. The light of the torch revealing a swarm of the slug creatures rising from the slime and coming towards him. "Fuck…Fuck…Fuck you, sorcerer!"

* * *

Resting with his back to a wall, Prince Oberyn allowed himself a slight grin as he watched the last of their plunder be loaded up onto the boats and skiff that were tied off in the harbor. While the sight of chests of gold, Valyrian steel, and other valuable loot was enough to make anyone grin, that was not the true reason why he felt the way he did. No, what was causing his mood was the young boy who had, without even seeming to have realized it, taken over command of the expedition while Nox was off doing whatever it was a sorcerer did in his free time.

He'd always been one for the more under privileged of the nobility, especially bastard children. Which was understandable considering he had seven bastard daughters of his own and, gods willing, hopefully more in the future. But he had an especially soft spot for those who did their best to rise above what the 'civilized' nobility thought their place was. His own squire back in Dorne, Daemon Sand, was one such bastard. His eldest daughters could also be considered amongst that group. And now, Jon Snow was with them as well, having earned the respect of the only true sorcerer of Westeros to the point where the man had taken the boy on as his official apprentice, a position akin to being a squire if his somewhat limited knowledge of the sorcerer and his ways meant anything. And, without a doubt, it was an honor and privilege just about any Lord or Lady in Westeros and Essos would kill to have. And, at least to Oberyn, the honor was well deserved. The boy did manage to not only hold off the flames of a dragon for gods only knew how long until Nox could return and put an end to the skirmish by killing whatever the hell it was that he'd been fighting, but he also managed to kill said dragon as well.

Thinking of the fight dampened his mood more than slightly. For a long time, Oberyn had considered himself one of the more knowledgeable men in all of Westeros, especially in matters of the arcane. Unlike many in the Citadel, he took his studies of the high mysteries seriously. He'd bore witness to a shadow priestess ritual. He knew of the warlocks of Qarth. And while he had not had the pleasure, or displeasure pending on one's viewpoint, of meeting the Faceless Men of Bravos, he knew the assassins used some form of magic to aid them. But his short time here, perusing some of the tomes of ancient Dragon Lords, reminded him of a lesson he'd long since forgotten. That no matter how much one thought they knew, there was always more out there. Whatever magic the dragons used, it was far beyond anything he'd ever seen or even heard of from other people. And watching just what Nox had done, well, that was so far beyond what even the Valyrians could probably do that he was relatively sure that had he been borne during the Valyrian Empire, the sorcerer would've either been given one of the highest seats in the Empire, or be considered a god reborn.

To say nothing of his fighting prowess, the man's power was far beyond anything Oberyn could have ever imagined. He was able to call down a storm that completely obliterated a fair portion of a city. Not destroy. Obliterate. And, as if _that_ wasn't enough, he was able to stand in the midst of said storm and emerge without a single hair out of place. And when Oberyn added what he'd seen to the rumors he'd gathered from the battle of Pyke, rumors that he was now sure were _under_stating Nox's capabilities, he was left with one conclusion. That Nox was, without a doubt, the most dangerous man in all of Westeros. Perhaps even Essos and Sothoryos, and all other land masses as well. And not just because of his power, but his mind as well. The man was a born strategist and a beyond excellent player of the Game, on the same level as his brother…or perhaps even greater. A thought that chilled Oberyn to the bone.

'_My brother sent me out to learn what I can about Nox and report back to him. Specifically, if there is anything we can use to entice him to our way of thinking in the times to come,_' Oberyn mused, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his new Valyrian spear. '_Well, after spending weeks with him, I can safely say that any rumors or stories about the man and his abilities are, if anything, understating his capabilities. And as for enticing him to our side, according the Northerners with looser lips, the sorcerer has a woman he cares deeply for waiting for him back in the North. He has the respect of the North for all his actions, which have placed him on the same level as Ned Stark in their eyes. And with this little venture into Valyria, he now has more wealth to his name than perhaps even Tywin-fucking-Lannister. In short, there is nothing we can do to entice him to leave the North. And facing him either on the field of battle or off is akin to suicide. But, perhaps, the answer to our problems lay not with the sorcerer himself. But rather…in someone who would be more…malleable. Someone young. Someone who doesn't stand to inherit anything from his father because he laid with a woman who was not his wife_.'

The idea had merit. But it would take time. The sorcerer obviously cared for his new apprentice, though how deep that relationship went, he still wasn't sure. But if, within a few years, Jon Snow could wield even a fraction of the power Nox had, then he could change the course of a war with his mere presence.

'_And there is the added benefit that Snow and his trueborn siblings are being raised as if they were truly siblings. Meaning there is love between them_.' Oberyn mused, watching as Jon coordinated the efforts to finalize their departure._ 'If there truly is family love between Snow and the future heir of the North, then that could be potentially leveraged if we were to gain control, or rather the allegiance, of the boy. I doubt controlling him will be an option, given who his mentor is. Though, the reverse is true as well. Any action taken against the North and his family would firmly put Snow against us. It will be a fine line to walk…but it is possible_.'

"That is quite the pensive look for you, Prince Oberyn."

_'Damn_,' Oberyn cursed, just barely managing to keep himself seated instead of jumping up and grabbing his spear. '_I need to learn how he can sneak up on people so effectively. I know of many assassins that would do just about anything to have his level of skill_.'

"I find myself in a pensive mood, sorcerer," Oberyn responded, slowly rising to his feet as he turned to the man he was starting to consider a friend. Or at least a man that he knew he couldn't afford _not_ to befriend. "I take it you dealt with our wayward sailors."

"No," Nox responded, shaking his head. "I let the land take care of them. I just led them to the right spot."

Oberyn didn't really have much to say in response. The men tried to kill himself and take one of his daughters as a plaything. As far as he was concerned, whatever ill fate befell those fools was well deserved. "Well, as long as they're dealt with, I guess that is all that matters."

"Indeed," Nox agreed before turning towards the boats. "Is everything set?"

"Yes," Oberyn nodded. "The boats are filled to the point where they're about to capsize. And they're chained to the others so we can tow them out of this godforsaken land."

"Good," Nox nodded, his tone lighter than it had been for days. "Then let us get out of this hellhole and start discovering just what kinds of treasures we have managed to procure from this costly venture, shall we?"


	12. The Return Part 1

**Welcome back everyone! I hope that everyone is managing to stay healthy during these trying times! This chapter, this chapter kinda got away from me length wise. I was debating cutting it into two chapters, but then decided against it. I want to get this story rolling, and if that means I have a longer chapter here or there, then so be it. But just so everyone is on the same page…this story is gonna be a long one by the time everything is all said and done. I mean, we aren't even to the start of the Books or the show and I'm already this far. And we still have quite a bit that I want to have happen before we reach that point as well, so buckle up everyone, this is gonna be a long one.**

**Again, huge shout out to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace. The help has been invaluable so far. And another huge thank you to everyone who has favorited, alerted or reviewed this story so far. Your support is what keeps me going! So if you feel so inclined to leave a review, please do! They really do help me get my mojo going and get the next chapters rolling on.**

**Lastly, I am not Lucas or Martin, so I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter!**

* * *

The Summer Sea was peaceful, calm, serene. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the air was warm. The _Sea Wolf_ rocked only slightly as the tide of the ocean water gently pushed at the massive ship with a weak effort, or none. Yet despite the calm weather and sea, Ellaria Sand could find no peace. Not while her love was away from her side. Deep in the forsaken land of Valyria for over a sennight now with no word nor sign of himself, his bastard daughter, or any of the others that'd gone with them being even close to returning.

Normally, whenever her lover would go on some dangerous venture, it was never for every long and she was able to keep her mind off him and just what dangerous things he could potentially be facing. She'd tried to employ the same tactic this time as well. Unfortunately, she was stuck on a ship. It was a large ship to be sure, but nonetheless a ship. After only two days, she'd run out of activities that could potentially keep her mind off what could be happening to Oberyn and Obara. Well, not _all_ activities. And while she knew that Oberyn would not chide her for turning to the pleasures of the flesh to keep her mind occupied, she simply couldn't work up the will to do so. Not without him.

The only thing that kept her occupied now was her daily duties where she helped the Lady Talisa, who'd taken on the unofficial role of healer on board. But even then, there wasn't much in the way of injuries or sickness when the ship stayed anchored in a single location for days on end.

The only oddity that had occurred was a few days prior when two long ships, not even galleons, had tried to attack the _Sea Wolf_ while it was anchored. The battle or rather 'skirmish' – and even calling it that was a stretch – was very short-lived. The longboats didn't even get close enough so that the occupants on board could start attempting to board the _Sea Wolf_ before one of them was sunk by well-aimed scorpion bolts and a firebomb. The other was very quick to flee in response. She knew that Ser Manderly had wanted to go after the ship, but two things stopped him from ordering the pursuit. One, the longboat was faster than the _Sea Wolf_ and was already at full sail. And the second was the fact that their orders from the Sorcerer took precedence over petty grievances. And no one wanted to have to explain to that man why they weren't in place to pick him and his expedition up once they returned from the Valyrian Peninsula.

"My Lady."

Glancing to her left, she gave an acknowledgement to Ser Manderly as he made his way towards her. _'Honestly, I try not to be judgmental… But how does one gain such weight?_' she thought as she could feel the deck boards give slightly under her feet as he approached and stood beside her, looking out towards the river that her lover had taken on his never-ending quest for adventure and thrills. "Ser Manderly."

The two stood in silence as they both stared out at the same spot leading upriver. "It's been a sennight, my Lady."

"I don't care." Ellaria shot back, just barely managing to keep the venom out of her tone. "Even if another sennight should pass, simply leave me in a boat and go on your way if you wish to flee."

"That…isn't what I was saying, my Lady," Ser Manderly responded slowly. "I meant… Well… I talked to the crew and, well… In the North, the Sorcerer is well respected. Even loved as much as the Starks themselves for what he's done for us all. And then there's Lord Stark's boy. Even if he is a natural born son, he's still Lord Stark's. Then there are all the other Lords and Ladies that went with them and, well, if they don't return in another sennight then I've gathered together a list of volunteers that are willing to head upriver and find them, no matter what."

"I – Thank you, Ser Manderly," she muttered, not entirely sure just else to say on the matter as the two continued to look out over the ocean water towards the river. "I – I believe I shall see if Talisa needs any more help with, well, anything."

Turning her back on the peninsula, she made it only a dozen steps before Ser Manderly stopped her. "You might want to wait on that for a moment, my Lady."

Spinning back around, she rushed to the railing of the ship and leaned over it as she stared hard towards the river opening. Her breath quickened as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest as she squinted, trying to see as far as she could. It was faint, barely little dots on the horizon, but it was unmistakable. Boats, several of them, were leaving the river and making their way out into the sea. "They're back," she breathed.

"Aye, that they are," Ser Manderly nodded before turning towards the rest of the ship. "Alright, lads! The Sorcerer is returning from having spit in the eyes of the dragon lords of old! Get off your fucking asses and get the wenches and ladders ready to get our men and women back on board!"

Around her, the ship exploded into a flurry of activity as the sailors began preparing the numerous ropes and wenches to raise the small boats out of the water. Despite everything going on around her, Ellaria stayed rooted to her spot, keeping a watchful eye on the slowly approaching boats, looking desperately for any sign of her lover and her half-daughter. As the boats crossed the halfway point between the land and the _Sea Wolf_, she felt the cold hand of fear grip her tightly as she could begin to make out aspects of the boats. While she couldn't make out the individuals on the boats, there were a few things she could already tell. One; there was an extra skiff that was drifting behind the others. And two; only half of the boats had people in them. '_They left in a full company,_' she thought, trying – and failing – from allowing her fear to overcome her. '_Yet they return with what looks like less than half the number they set out with!_' Ellaria wasn't a devout woman, but at that moment she was praying to the Seven, the Old Gods, the Many-Faced God, and even the Red God for her family's safe return.

Once the boats were close enough to begin making out individual faces on board, she nearly sagged in relief. For in the lead boat sitting beside the sorcerer was her lover Oberyn and her half-daughter Obara. _'Thank you_,' she sighed in relief, her hands gripping the railing so hard she was almost sure to leave marks in the wood. '_Thank you_.'

"Sorcerer!" Ser Manderly bellowed, leaning over the rail as the ships got close enough to begin tying off on the _Sea Wolf_ while rope ladders were lowered down the side of the hull. "Looks like things didn't go as smoothly as you hoped!"

The sorcerer didn't respond as the boats began roping themselves to the side of the _Sea Wolf_. Once they were secure, the Sorcerer raised his hand and lifted several unconscious individuals out of the boats, one of whom she noted as being the Lord Stark's baseborn son, while Oberyn and a few others began scaling up the rope ladders. "Send for Lady Talisa and the healer on board!" The Sorcerer shouted as the sailors began scrambling to take the bodies that were being lifted using sorcery.

"You heard him!" Ser Manderly shouted as the bodies were lowered onto the deck. "Get your asses moving or I'll put my boot up 'em!"

The mother in Ellaria wanted to immediately go to the boy, but that thought was quickly pushed to the back of her mind as Oberyn vaulted over the railing and landed lightly on his feet right next to her. "My love!" She nearly cried, rushing into Oberyn's waiting arms and clutching him tightly to her. "Please, please tell me you will cease with these ventures for some time now! I don't know if my heart can take another sennight like this!"

Tears began opening falling from her eyes as she felt Oberyn's warm soothing arms encircle her and hold her close. "I think I can safely say that my need for adventure has been sated. And will be for quite some time."

"_Good!_" Ellaria smiled, pulling back just enough to lean forward once again and capture her lover's lips with her own.

"Sorcerer! I can't find any wounds on Jon! What happened to him?"

Breaking the kiss she'd been longing for, Ellaria felt her motherly instincts return full force as she broke from Oberyn's embrace and rushed over to Talisa, who was currently on her knees and examining the young Jon Snow. "He wasn't wounded," the deep, almost sensual voice of the sorcerer called out as the man himself slowly climbed over the railing of the ship. "He's merely exhausted. Due to our losses, Jon and I were forced to use our powers to help push and guide the boats downriver. And while Jon is powerful, he doesn't quite have the experience or endurance to bear such strain for longer than a day or so. He needs rest. Maybe a day or two and he'll be back to normal."

Talisa seemed to accept his words and left Jon to go to the other man's side, who she didn't recognize but could clearly see was in worse shape than Jon. Or anyone else for that matter. Rising to her feet, she moved to return to Oberyn's side, but halted as she watched her lover lean in slightly towards the sorcerer. His words were quiet, but she could still just barely make them out.

"You should be taking your own advice, Nox," Oberyn said quietly as the men and women around them scurried about, congratulating those returning from Valyria while working on bringing the loot from the voyage onboard. "The others may not have noticed, but I have. You haven't slept since we left the _Sea Wolf_. And you've been using whatever power you have the entire time to protect us, to fight that monster, and then to ensure we made it back safely and timely. There's no shame in admitting you're exhausted too. Gods know that if anyone has earned the right to rest, it's you. I can handle things from here for now. You need to get your pretty ass in bed."

Upon hearing that, Ellaria began examining the sorcerer closely. The man was doing a good job of holding himself up, especially if what Oberyn had said was true. But the closer she looked at him, the more she could see the telltale signs of exhaustion: the slight bend in his knees, his slight leaning, and while she couldn't see his eyes beyond their cloth coverings, she could see the signs of exhaustion clear on his face.

"Back in your paramour's arms for barely a few moments, and already trying to get me into bed, Oberyn? Have you no shame?"

Ellaria found herself smiling at the jest as she walked up and weaved her arm around Oberyn's. "Oh, I don't mind, sorcerer. I'm sure you two would put on such a show that I would be unable to remain a spectator for long before joining you."

The sorcerer chuckled. "And as I've said, I have a fine woman waiting for me back in the North that I will not stray from."

"Then perhaps we shall just have to venture North and bed both yourself and this mysterious woman who has ensnared you so," Ellaria laughed back, feeling a familiar warmth return to her lower regions. She needed to get Oberyn alone, and fast, or she would be taking him right here on the deck. "If she is strong enough to capture and keep your attention, sorcerer, then she is definitely the kind of woman I would gladly feast on."

"And with that thought, I believe I shall be taking your advice, Oberyn," the sorcerer replied, making a hasty retreat towards his cabin at the rear of the ship. "Ser Manderly! I leave the unloading of everything to you! Sort out and categorize as much as you can. I want the books kept separately as well as the crystals that are in some of the chests. Lady Talisa and I will begin working on translating as much as we can once we're back on the open waters."

"Aye, sorcerer!" Ser Manderly shouted. "Alright, lads! You heard the man! We got gold! Valyrian steel! And only the gods know what else to sort through!"

No longer able, or even willing, to remain above deck, Ellaria grabbed a firm hold of Oberyn's arm and began leading him back towards their own private cabin. "Why, my love," Oberyn chuckled. "So forward. Did you not find a suitable substitute while I was away?"

"Shut your mouth, love," Ellaria hissed, throwing open the door to their cabin and tossing Oberyn inside before shutting and latching the door behind them.

"Or, on second thought," she muttered, unclasping her dress and letting it pool at her feet. "Let us put your mouth to _much_ better use."

* * *

He was sitting on a grass field, feeling the warm air brush across his face as he watched his little girl dance through the meadows. The wind catching her golden hair and her emerald green eyes full of mischief as she danced and laughed. This was peace. This was what he wanted. If only he hadn't been a fool, he could've had exactly this. But now, now this was denied to him. And the only chance he had of experiencing this bliss was in the world of dreams. His only escape from his current reality of horror. As if to curse him more than he already was, he could feel the waking world calling for him. Denying him the peace he so desperately sought.

He knew it was a pointless struggle to fight against that what was natural, but he fought against it all the same. Here, he was at peace. Here, he was with her. The waking world held no peace for him. No respite. Nothing but unending torment and hardship. But even as he struggled to remain in this peace, with her, he could feel the world slipping away from him as he began to regain conscious. '_Joy…my Joy…I'm so sorry_.'

As darkness eclipsed his vision and his one hope left his sight, Gerion fought against the tears threatening to fall as he began mentally preparing himself once again for the hardships of the day that had become the norm for him while being stranded in this accursed land of the fallen dragon lords.

But as he began to wake, he noticed something…odd. There was a gentle but subtle rocking motion that was not normal. And whatever he was laying on was certainly softer than the hard-wooden planks of the shipwrecked _Lion's Pride_ that he'd taken to call his bed. And there was also a…soft sheet covering him? '_What? What fresh hell is this? Have I finally lost my mind and succumb to the darkness that claimed so many that foolishly came with me on the promise of riches and fame beyond imagine?_'

Forcing his eyes open, he had to immediately shut them once again as a light, far brighter than any he'd seen in a long time, assaulted him. Raising his arm to shield his face, he slowly cracked his eyes open once again. '_My, my armor is gone,_' he thought, marveling at the rough woolen tunic that covered his arm. Though after so long wearing leather and whatever he could scrap together, the cheap wool felt more like the softest silk. _'What…What is happening?_'

"Finally awake, Gerion Lannister. I must say that you certainly took your sweet time. I was starting to wonder if I'd overdone it with you. But I didn't want to take any chances."

Turning his head, he noticed that he was in a decently sized cabin of some sort. And just a short distance from him was a man who had his back turned towards him with a book in his hands as he sat in a chair. A man dressed all in black with his hood pulled up over his head. '_I'm dead_,' he thought, closing his eyes once more. '_And the Stranger has come to take my soul to the Seven Hells for my greatest sin…or I've finally lost it. Either way…I suppose this isn't all that bad_.'

"Interesting. Your emotions are screaming confusion yet acceptance. Yet at the same time, your thoughts, which should be screaming as well, are muffled. Quite curious. Yet it does serve to reaffirm my decision to take you with us, even if you did try and kill one of my expedition upon our first meeting."

'_What?_'

Forcing his eyes open once again, he turned to the Stranger. Only…he wasn't The Stranger. Or perhaps he was, but just a representation of what Gerion found to be the Stranger. A man with Valyrian features, yet who was blind so kept an ornamental cloth wrapped around his head to hide his ruined eyes. A man he knew of very well. After all, his insufferable elder brother wouldn't shut up about him, and his nephew continuously gushed about him. The Northern Sorcerer, Lord Alim Nox.

Scrambling away from the man, creature, whatever he was, Gerion only stopped as his back hit the wall, leaving him nowhere else to run. "No, no, no! You can't be real! You can't be here! This – This is impossible! This is a trick! You're the Stranger himself taking that form! Or just a figment of my mind sent to –"

He hadn't even seen the man, thing, move. But within a blink of an eye he managed to cross the distance between them and…flicked him in the forehead with enough force to knock his head back against the wall. "Does that hurt?"

"Does that fucking hurt?" Gerion yelled, rubbing the front and back of his head. "Of course that fucking hurt!"

"Then, by that logic, this is no illusion. Nor is this the afterlife. This is real. I am the Sorcerer Nox, as you more than likely know me by. Now, stop being a fool and don't do anything to hurt yourself. I would hate to have the effort I expended getting you out of Valyria to go to waste."

He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't let himself hope. Hope was something that he'd long ago abandoned in order to survive in the hell that had become his life. But, despite himself, he found himself slowly inching towards to the man claiming to be the sorcerer. Reaching out, he poked the man in the arm with a finger, half expecting it to go through his form and for him to once again be in the ruins of the _Lion's Pride_. But it didn't. His finger struck solid flesh under cloth.

"This – This is real?" he murmured, hope – dangerous hope – rearing its head within him despite his best attempts to suppress it.

"It is," the man, sorcerer, nodded. "Valyria is a few days at our backs. Soon enough, we'll be coming upon the Stepstones, and then into Westerosi waters once again. Soon enough, you'll be home once more."

He didn't want to believe him. He didn't want to get his hopes up once more, only to have them crushed. But even as he tried to deny what was happening, tried to suppress the hope this man had given him, he failed. The relief, the joy he felt was so overwhelming that he fell to his knees as tears of relief started pouring from his eyes. His brother, may the gods curse him, had always insisted on a image for all of those of House Lannister, especially after his father passed and he took up the mantel of Lord Lannister. And if he were to see the state Gerion was in now, he would consider it a disgrace. But Gerion simply didn't care at that moment. He was finally free of that hell hole. And now…now he could return home. Correct the wrongs he'd committed and do everything he could to keep his promise to the Gods, Old and New, for having delivered him his salvation.

He didn't know just how long he knelt there, sobbing like a child, but eventually he managed to compose himself enough to raise his head. Mercifully, the sorcerer had turned his back on his shameful display and had resumed his spot in his chair, the book he had been reading once again in his hands. Though just how the sorcerer managed to read the words on the page without the use of his eyes was beyond him.

"I…apologize for that display, sorcerer."

"There is no need," the sorcerer said dismissively as he closed his book and set it aside. "Given what you've just went through, it's understandable. But now that you have gotten that out of your system, perhaps you will sate my curiosity. I am most interested in just how you managed to retain your mind in a situation where you shouldn't have been able to."

Swallowing past the lump forming in his throat, Gerion nodded and sat down on the only seat left available, his small bed. "I…I don't know what I can tell you, sorcerer. But I'll answer any questions you have for me. I owe you that much and more. And a Lannister always pays their debts."

"Let's start with your mind," the sorcerer said, leaning towards him. "Besides having a noble upbringing and an educated mind, what thoughts occupied your mind most frequently? And were there any that you found to keep yourself from falling into despair?"

The question was honestly one that he had pondered frequently during his isolation in that hell. Why was he spared when so many of his men, good men, fell victim to madness? "I – I don't know," he answered honestly, dropping his head. "I…I thought often of my daughter. Of my failure to her as a father. I – I swore to the gods old and new that should they deliver me from Valyria and return me to Westeros that I would do right by her. That I would go to my brother or even the King and beg, on my hands and knees if I had to, to see her legitimized. And I would spend the rest of my life making up for my failure in taking full responsibility for her. And…And after I made that promise I…I started seeing her in my dreams. Of the few memories I had of her. Of her playing at the beach with other children or her running through a field of grass. I thought perhaps the gods had blessed me. But then as no rescue came, I began to think they cursed me. Torturing me day in and day out with thoughts of a peaceful life with my daughter only to have me awaken and find myself still fighting every day to stay alive and to keep my mind sound."

"You might actually have the right of it," the sorcerer replied, surprising Gerion. "The god part is debatable. But the thought of returning to your daughter and doing right by her, combined with your will, might have been enough to hold back the darkness that encased Valyria for a time. But such a protection should not have lasted for as long as it did. Especially as your brothers showed no obvious signs of Force sensitivity during the brief time I spent with them on Pyke. But maybe…hmm. Would you consent to an examination?"

Gerion could only follow about half of what the sorcerer was saying as most of what he said seemed like mere ramblings. "Why would you need my consent?" he asked, "I've been unconscious for days. You could've done whatever you wanted to me then. Why ask now?"

"Because there is a difference between examining an unconscious mind versus a conscious mind," Nox answered. "Now, do I have your consent?"

Warning bells were ringing in his head louder than the bells of King's Landing. But he owed this man a debt and he would see it repaid. "If…that is what you want. Then I give you my consent, so-"

He wasn't entirely sure just what happened as soon as he said the words. One moment everything was normal and then next it felt like someone had their fingers inside his skull. "What the fuck!?" he shouted, jumping to his feet and backing into a corner of the room, trying to put as much space between the two of them as he could as he felt the strange sensation within his mind disappear as quickly as it came. "What – What did you do to me!?"

"Nothing," the sorcerer answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I expected something along these lines, but certainly not to this extent. You are an extraordinary individual with quite the will to back it up."

"What in the name of the gods are you talking about, sorcerer!" Gerion shouted, his body physically shaking as thoughts of Valyria and the cries of his men descending into madness returned full force upon him. "No games! What did you do to me!?"

Scratching at the short stubble on his face, the sorcerer took his time in answering. "I did nothing more than probe your mind. A probe which you successfully rebuffed; I might add. You see, when you were asleep your unconscious mind repelled any type of probe, I tried to perform on you to see if you were in your right mind. In fact, I'll even admit that it was more than slightly difficult to keep you unconscious for those few days between our finding you and bringing you back to the _Sea Wolf_. At first, I simply assumed you had a strong will which manifested in your subconscious to keep foreign intruders at bay. The reality is far more complex. You see, you were Force sensitive. Not to a high degree, but there was some Force sensitivity within you. Perhaps, with the right training, you could've manifested the Force in slight manner."

"But your time in Valyria has altered that. Subconsciously, you pulled on the Force, centering on thoughts of your daughter and your will to return. You then coalesced the Force into a construct around your mind. Think of it as sort of like building a castle in your mind where the designs were based on your desire and will to survive and see your daughter and the Force made up the bricks and mortar of your castle. You then locked your mind within, preventing any outside interference. Your time in Valyria eroded quite a bit of your defenses and, if given enough time, they would have crumbled completely. But now, your 'castle' is constantly repairing itself to any attempts to breach it. In short, you subconsciously gave up your Force sensitivity and any future potential you might've had to manifest the Force in return for making your mind essentially as strong as Valyrian steel. It's actually quite impressive."

Gerion couldn't keep up with over half of what the sorcerer was saying, but he thought that he understood the general premise. Though the one facet that he was interested in was the fact that the sorcerer claimed he was Force sensitive, whatever that meant. "So, what does all that mean?"

"It means that in exchange for giving up any magical potential you might have had, you now have perhaps one of the strongest and best protected minds in all of the land, save for my own of course," the sorcerer answered. "But we can go into more details later. Now, I believe that it would do you a fair bit of good to get some fresh air, don't you?"

The thought of smelling fresh air, of feeling the sun on his face once again was enough to make him put thoughts of the sorcerer's words to the back of his mind. "Yes, that does sound good."

"Good," the sorcerer nodded, rising from his seat and going towards the door to the cabin. "Oh, and by the way. I would highly recommend that you make your apologies to Prince Oberyn Martell and his daughter, Obara Sand. After all, you did try and stab her in the back when we first found you. From what little I know of the Dornish, they tend to hold a grudge. And I doubt you want to give them any more reason to dislike House Lannister than they already have."

The elation he'd been feeling dried up immediately as a cold chill went through him. "Wait…I tried to kill who?!"

* * *

In the lower levels of the _Sea Wolf_, Jon Snow, son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Apprentice to Lord Nox, watched quietly as Lady Talisa made her way through the chests they'd brought back from Valyria as she carefully began pulling out selected books to begin translating from High Valyrian to the common tongue. By order of Lord Nox and Ser Manderly, no one could enter the room unless they were accompanied by Jon, Nox, Ser Manderly, or one of the other Nobles on board the ship. They had to keep everything under lock and key, which Jon had at first not understood the reasoning behind. But the reason became obvious as the night after Jon had awoken from his exhausted state, one of the sailors on board had been caught trying to filch some of the gold. The man had received ten lashings and been placed in the brig for the rest of the voyage, but after that Jon understood the need for precautions. The men of the North were honorable, but in the end, they were still men. And greed was a powerful motivator that none were free from, as Lord Nox liked to continuously remind him.

As Talisa continued her process of pulling out one book, opening it to a random page and then either tucking it into the basket she was carrying or placing it back, Jon idly looked around the room, taking in the riches that they now had. He'd been part of the original sorting and categorizing of the loot they'd managed to find, so he knew just about everything they had. But before they did, the nobles and the sailors who'd survived had each been allowed to take something. Naturally, all the nobles had decided to take Valyrian steel weapons. Jon Umber had taken a sword that could easily rival Ice in size. Eddard Karstark had taken a longsword. Dacey Mormont had held onto the mace she'd found while Asha had kept her twin throwing axes as well. Prince Oberyn had claimed his long spear and his daughter had taken a strange weapon that Lord Nox had categorized as a 'spear-sword'. As for himself, Jon had surrendered the short sword he'd used during his Trial for Lord Nox. After all, he was able to claim the strange armlet as well as the strange crystal Lord Nox called a 'kyber' crystal, which Lord Nox had recently taken possession of though he wouldn't tell him why. As well as the dragon egg, which he was keeping secret from everyone except for his Master. As for the rest of the men who'd accompanied them, Nox had promised each of them the sum of one-thousand gold dragons, which would be held in safekeeping until they arrived back in the North.

After the rewards had been sorted out, what was left had been catalogued and categorized, and the sheer amount they had collected completely shocked Jon. In terms of Valyrian steel, they managed to find seven-and-twenty additional swords, eight axes, over thirty daggers, two other spear-swords, two spears and three shields. What was also surprising was the fact that they managed to find two complete sets of scaled armor and seven chainmail vests. Gods only knew how his father and Nox were going to distribute or sell the steel. In terms of gold, that was far more difficult to count. But if Jon had to guess, he would have to say that they had over four-hundred thousand gold dragons worth in gold, and that was a low estimate. A _very_ low estimate. Then there were the six smaller chests of rare jewels and jewelry. There were the four chests of the strange crystals that didn't honestly look all that valuable but, according to Master Nox who had taken a few to study, if they were what he thought, then they might honestly be the most valuable things they'd found. Then there were the dozen chests full of books as well. And with it all piled into this one room and somewhat on display, he had honestly never seen so much wealth in one place before. Even the treasury in Winterfell couldn't compare to what they now had.

"I believe this should suffice for the time being, Jon," Lady Talisa stated as she walked up to him, at least ten books in her basket held under her arm.

"I swear, Lady Talisa," Jon chuckled, holding open the door for her to leave. "Between you and Master Nox, I don't know which one of you reads more books."

Once they were both outside the room, Jon shut the door and held his hand towards the latch. Closing his eyes, he reached out with the Force and manipulated the locking mechanism inside the room and locked the door. It was another precaution implemented by Lord Nox. By using this method, only Jon or Nox would be able to open the door.

"We all have our skills, Jon," Lady Talisa answered him as the two began to ascend to the main deck of the _Sea Wolf_. "Reading just happens to be one of mine. No need to be jealous just because it is not one of your particular strengths."

The tone was teasing in nature, but she was quite accurate in her statement. He'd never been the greatest of readers, preferring instead to spend his time in the yard rather than sitting with the Maester or Master Nox reading one book after another. That wasn't to say that he couldn't read or didn't enjoy it under specific circumstances, there were just quite a few other things that he would prefer doing.

Coming onto the main deck, Jon took a moment to lean his head back and smell the sea air while Lady Talisa immediately left for her cabin to continue her seemingly never ending task of translating as much as she could from what they recovered. Until this voyage, he'd never really been on the sea, never really understood its appeal. But now, after so many weeks, he felt a slight pain of regret as he recognized that his time on the sea was soon coming to an end. Granted, they still had weeks at sea as they were still days away from the Stepstones, but still. He would miss it when he was back on land permanently.

"Lord Snow, the sorcerer wants to see you."

Opening his eyes, Jon turned the owner of the voice. While he'd tried his best to learn as many names as he could of the sailors on board, the simple fact was that the _Sea Wolf_ was massive and carried a large crew to keep her afloat. Because of that, he only knew a handful of the sailors at best. And the one who'd come up to him was one that he did not know. "Thank you," he said, nodding to man, who quickly left him to return to his duties.

Heading for the back of the ship, Jon hesitated only for a moment outside of Lord Nox's cabin before knocking and letting himself in the largest room of the ship. The captain's cabin was a mess, and that was putting it lightly. The table within was covered with scrolls, books, the strange crystals, a hammer, pincers, and various other hand tools. And standing with his back to the door, facing out the back windows overlooking the sea behind them was his Master.

"Master Nox," Jon called out, shutting the door behind him. "You wished to see me?"

Nox didn't say anything, he just continued to look out the window. Or rather, face out the window. "Tell me, Jon. Why didn't you decide to keep the Valyrian sword I gave you at the start of your trial in Valyria?"

"I – I didn't think it was right of me to keep it," he answered slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Between the armlet, the jew – er, kyber crystal, and the…well, you know. I didn't feel it was right for me to keep the sword also."

"Fair. But keep in mind what is 'fair' is not always what will be in your best interest. In the future, do not discard a potential advantage just because you do not believe that it would be 'fair' to others. But I suppose it is a moot point regardless. I was going to have you surrender the blade. Not because it would be 'fair', but because such a weapon is frankly beneath one of your skill."

Jon's heart started to race as Nox turned away from the window and made his way back to the table. The day after Jon had awoken Nox had all but demanded the kyber crystal from Jon, which he had immediately handed over. Though what Nox wanted the crystal for he wasn't sure. But he had a suspicion, or rather a hope, of what the reasoning might be. Especially after their talk in Valyria just before they left. His already racing heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he watched Lord Nox bring out a long box, set it on the table, and open the lid such that Jon was unable to see what lay inside.

"You have done exceedingly well so far, Jon. You earned your place as my Apprentice, yet you still have much to learn. But now it is time for you to take the next step towards becoming a true Force Adept."

From within the confines of the box, a long cylindrical shape floated upwards before shooting across the room towards Jon, who just barely managed to catch the object out of reflex. It took him a moment to recognize what he was holding. But when he did, he nearly fainted on the spot. It was a hilt. A hilt with no cross guard. A black grip that was interlaced with silver decorative designs that seemed to almost form some sort of wolf like creature. And, while it was faint, he could feel the kyber crystal he'd found in Valyria within the hilt.

"Well?" Nox asked. "You can activate it whenever you want. It is yours. Just be mindful in here. You break anything, and you'll be spending the rest of your time onboard fixing it."

Nodding absentmindedly, Jon's thumb traced over the small red part of the hilt that he knew, even if he didn't know just how he knew, that would bring the blade to life. The blade hissed just like Lord Nox's as it emerged. But unlike Lord Nox's lightsaber that was a blood-red color, his lightsaber was as white as the winter snow and the blade almost seemed to hum in his hands. And – And he could've sworn he felt something within the blade feel almost pleased to be released. Lord Nox's blade didn't feel like this the one and only time Jon had wielded it. It made him wonder just why that was.

"This lightsaber is your _life_ now, Jon," Lord Nox lectured as he retracted the blade. "Take care of it as you would your own child. For you will not get another."

"Aye," he murmured, marveling at the weapon in its hand. "What's its name?"

The question seemed to catch Lord Nox off-balance. "You know… No one has ever actually named a lightsaber to my knowledge. Hmm. Well, I suppose if you want to name your lightsaber, that is your prerogative. It is yours, after all. Perhaps I may even follow suit and name my own after all these years. But, until we're back in the North, do keep that out of sight."

A frantic knocking on the cabin's door abruptly ended their conversation, and Jon was just able to turn around and hold his retracting lightsaber behind his back as the door was thrown open by a frantic looking Asha, a state Jon had never associated with the woman.

"Lord Nox! Talisa needs your help now!"

Nox immediately stepped forward beside Jon. "What is going on?"

Asha swallowed hard, the fear rolling off her in waves so thick Jon could almost taste it. "It's Dacey. She…She has Greyscale! As does the Karstark lad and two others that went with us to Valyria!"

Cold dread settled in Jon's stomach at the thought. '_Gods be good…Greyscale. How – No, not like this! Not after everything we went through!_'

However, Lord Nox didn't say anything. Instead he went over to one of the cupboards in his room and pulled out a large glass jar the size of a man's head that contained a thick yellow substance inside. He also grabbed a satchel of what he called 'surgical instruments', which to Jon just looked like very small knives and also a small bottle of vinegar. '_The strange substance that he made from all that molding food?_' Jon thought, trailing behind Nox who was following Asha out of the cabin and down to the next level of the _Sea Wolf_. '_He called it medicine…Penici – Er, something like that. He said it would help cure diseases…But can it truly cure greyscale? Was this why he insisted on making so much before we left the North?_'

As they descended the stairs, Jon could hear Dacey's distinctive voice shouting. "Just give me a _fucking axe_ and I'll take the gods damned rotting arm off _myself!_"

"I keep telling you that won't do any good!" Lady Talisa's voice joined in at nearly the same level. "Cutting off your arm won't help matters!"

Shouldering past Asha, Lord Nox made his way into the small room with Jon right behind him. Inside were five people, Lady Talisa, Lady Dacey, Lord Eddard Karstark, and two of the sailors that'd come with them. Talisa currently had Dacey's arm held tight with her sleeve rolled up, and the others were seemingly trying to put as much space as they could between themselves and the two women in the room. The moment Nox entered, the yelling stopped as they all turned as one towards him and Lord Nox.

"Sorcerer," Dacey breathed, hope shinning in her eyes. "Please, _please_ tell me you can heal this! Or, at the very least, use your fire-sword to cut my damn arm off! I won't turn into one of those mindless beasts! I _won't!_"

Setting the glass jars and satchel down, Lord Nox replaced Lady Talisa on the stool just in front of Dacey and took hold of her arm. Peeking over his mentor's shoulder, Jon shuddered at what he saw. A fist sized patch of skin on the top of Dacey's forearm had turned black and grey and was starting to resemble scales more than flesh. "Jon," Nox said, not moving from his spot in front of Dacey. "The tools I brought, start cleaning them with the vinegar and then let them air dry. Someone else go and get fresh clothes for all four of them that haven't been used recently. As for you four, strip. Now. Everything you're wearing needs to be destroyed. Even your small clothes."

Grateful for the excuse to leave the room, Jon picked up the small satchel of tools and the bottle of vinegar and left to do exactly what Nox told him to do. It took longer than he cared to admit, mostly because most of the knives were so small and sharp that Jon had to be extremely careful when cleaning them out of fear that he'd cut himself open. But eventually he managed to get all the knives and other various strange tools cleaned and dried.

When he returned to the room, he noticed that all four that were afflicted with greyscale had shed their clothes and were now each wrapped in a blanket to give them some modesty. And, once again, Dacey was seated before Lord Nox and Lady Talisa. This time the two were wearing gloves as they examined the blackened scaled skin on Dacey's arm. "Just in time, Jon," Nox said and, without looking, reached back and swiftly took one of the smaller knives, more like an oversized needled, from the pile. "I want you to tell me when you can feel anything, Dacey."

Dacey nodded. Her eyes wide as she tracked the oversized needle point as Lord Nox brought it down on her arm. He first poked directly in the center of the blackened skin, and Dacey shook her head. He then continued to poke, slowly moving away from the center of the blackened mass until he came to the edge. The moment he poked the skin just outside the black, Dacey winced as a small amount of blood appeared on her arm. "I felt that."

Nodding, Nox reached behind him once more towards Jon. This time he grabbed one of the larger knives available. Taking the knife, he carefully laid the flat of the blade against her skin just outside the greyscale and moved forward. Dacey stiffened and flinched but his Master's hold was too strong. So much so that she couldn't move, even as the knife sunk into the black skin. The instant the knife cut into the greyscale, yellow pus surged forth from around the knife. The stench and sight of which nearly made Jon lose the contents of his stomach immediately.

"The pus means that her body is trying to fight the greyscale," Lady Talisa noted. For the first time Jon noticed that she had a quill and a parchment beside her, which was already half full of notes written in her delicate hand. "The fact that she can feel outside the visible greyscale area means it hasn't spread too far. At least, that is what is widely believed. The best treatment is lime or vinegar to try and stem the tide of the infection until the individual can recover, but that doesn't always happen."

"Because that would be like trying to dam up a lake the size of Volantis using only twigs," Nox lectured, to which Talisa immediately began writing again. "No. We need to remove the visible infection first and then treat the infection from the inside."

Talisa's hand stopped writing. "Treat the infection from the inside? How?"

Turning around, Nox grabbed the bottle filled with the strange yellow substance. "This is called 'penicillin'. It's an antibiotic from my homeland that's created from mold. It will help the body fight off the infection."

Talisa stared at the bottle as if it were the most valuable gem in the world. "How?"

Setting the bottle aside, Nox took the vinegar from Jon and poured some out onto a cloth and began to wipe at Dacey's arm around the greyscale. "It's difficult to explain, so perhaps an analogy then. Think of your body fighting off an infection like two armies fighting against one another. This medicine is basically a second army of reinforcements that will combat against the infection, aiding the body to get rid of the invader."

"Amazing," Talisa breathed, staring at the bottle. "But…does it work for greyscale?"

"I don't know," Nox answered honestly. "In truth, I'm not even sure if it is a true cure for greyscale as, to my knowledge, it's never been used to treat this disease. But if we combine the penicillin with the removal of the visible infection, and then keep the original infection area clean with methods that you know of, it should be enough to help the body overcome the greyscale."

"Well, this is all fascinating… But can we please move on to getting this shit off me instead of just talking about it?!" Dacey nearly screamed as she kept the blanket clutched around her body with the arm that Nox was not holding onto.

"Very well then," Nox nodded. "Talisa, I'll need your help with this. You as well, Jon. So, get your stomach back in place. If you feel the need to lose it, for god's sake do not do it where I'm working."

Swallowing the bile that was steadily rising in his throat, Jon stood next to his Master as he held his hand over the greyscale. He wasn't sure just what his Master was doing, and it seemed to also confuse Dacey. "Sorcerer, what are you doing? I can't feel anything in my hand or arm!"

"Good," Nox stated, picking up the large needle again and poking it into the normal flesh on her arm. When she gave no reaction, Nox nodded and swapped the needle for another knife. "You might want to look away for this part, Dacey. It won't be pleasant."

Dacey quickly looked away, and Jon wished that he could as well. But he didn't want to disappoint Lord Nox. So, as hard as it was to watch as Nox and Talisa worked in tandem to slowly and methodically removed the blackened scaled flesh from Dacey's arm, Jon forced himself to watch. '_Gods…How can they do this so calmly!?_' Jon wanted to scream as he watched the yellow pus stream out around the knife Nox was using to cut into Dacey's flesh while Talisa stood next to him, a pair of pincers in her hands as she helped to lift the cut flesh away. '_The sight…The smell! Gods. How can they do this?_'

"Jon, bowl."

Wordlessly, Jon picked up a wooden bowl that was next to Nox and held it out for him. Just as he was about to ask what it was for, he nearly lost his stomach once again. Nox casually dropped a piece of hardened flesh the size of his thumb into the bowl. Coughing and swallowing, Jon pointedly looked away from the bloody, pus-soaked flesh, and towards the others. Dacey was still pointedly looking away from what was happening but didn't appear to be in any pain for some reason. The other four, however, they had all turned completely white as they watched what was happening to Dacey, knowing that they would be next. After what felt like an eternity, the infected flesh on Dacey's arm was gone, leaving her exposed flesh for all to see.

"That was step one," Lord Nox said, making Jon curse as he wondered just how many 'steps' there were. "Now, we need to clean and disinfect the wound before going about healing it."

Setting their tools aside, Nox and Talisa went about collecting clean cloths, water, and vinegar before going about cleaning the exposed flesh on Dacey's arm. By the time they were done, the cloth they'd put on the floor was covered in blood, but the wound on her arm didn't look nearly as bad as it had.

"Now, to cheat slightly," Nox proclaimed, holding his hand above the wound.

Jon could feel the manipulation in the Force this time. He'd seen his Master use this technique before, the Force Healing he called it. It was capable of completely healing most physical wounds. And, unfortunately, it was a technique that Jon had next to no affinity for. In fact, neither Robb, Arya, nor Bran seemed to be able to use the Force Healing. Which, according to Nox, wasn't necessarily surprising as the technique required a very specific understanding of the Force and often couldn't be taught. And just as Jon had seen happen several times before, Dacey's flesh under his fingers mended on its own. Leaving behind completely unblemished skin such that you wouldn't be able to tell that anything untoward had happened.

While Jon had seen the healing before and wasn't surprised, the same could not be said for Talisa. The Volantis noble was doing a very impressive impression of a fish out of water as her mouth soundlessly moved up and down. "By the all the gods! How – How did you do that?! And, if you had such a technique, why didn't you just use it to cure the greyscale at the onset?" Talisa all but yelled, moving to touch the freshly healed skin, only to think better of it and stop. "Is…Is her flesh safe to touch?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Nox answered cryptically before elaborating. "About the 'touching her flesh' part. I'm not entirely sure just how deeply the infection runs for now. So, until you all show no resurgence of symptoms, you are all under quarantine. As for why I didn't just heal her, the simple fact is that the Force is limited in this capacity. I can heal wounds, but not diseases. In this case, we had to remove the infection as much as possible and _then_ I could heal the physical injury that was left behind."

"Amazing," Talisa breathed as Dacey found the strength to finally look down at her arm, her eyes going wide as she did. "What now?"

"Now, we send in the 'reinforcements', as it were," Lord Nox answered, turning and grabbing the glass of yellow liquid. "Each of you will need to take two spoonsful of this a day. Once when you wake and once before you sleep for the night. You'll stay on this regime for a week. And once that time is up, we will reevaluate your condition. Jon, wrap up Dacey's arm in a bandage so she isn't tempted to touch where the greyscale was. As for the rest of you, who's next?"

* * *

Keeping a firm hand on the ship's wheel, Asha Greyjoy kept her eyes steady on the horizon as she guided the massive _Sea Wolf_ towards the edge of the Stepstones. She hadn't been on a ship since she'd been torn from her home after her father's ill-conceived rebellion, and until now she hadn't truly realized just how much she'd missed this. At the same time, she recognized just how pathetic it was that such feelings had gone unnoticed for years. She was an Ironborn, for fuck's sake! Not some soft greenlander. Salt was in her very veins, yet her time in Winterfell had softened her far too much. Within the next two years she would be able to return to the Iron Islands, and if she returned as she was now, she would never be able to achieve her long-term plans. Plans that would see the Ironborn rise above their status as simpleminded reavers and the dreads of Westeros. No, she intended for the Ironborn to be feared and respected once more, only for something more than reaving. And if she were to do that, she needed to forgo the greenlander tendencies that'd been drilled into her by Lord Stark and his family.

Not that she was ungrateful to Lord Stark, far from it in fact. The man had treated her like his own daughter despite her status as his ward. He'd treated her a _hell_ of a lot better than her own father had, that was for sure. But that was just another reason why she needed to put her greenlander tendencies to the wayside. She wanted to protect the Starks; something she would've never thought she'd be saying in a hundred years. To do that, she needed to take over the Iron Islands. Because she knew, as things now stood, it would only be a matter of time before her father or some other fools decided to try their luck raiding the North. And that was not something she was about to let happen. Mostly because she didn't want her people to end up dying at the hands of the sorcerer.

Just the thought of the sorcerer drew her attention to the man, who was currently standing at the bow of the ship with Talisa and Jon right by his side. Jon being next to him was a forgone conclusion, he was his apprentice after all. A position that Asha had coveted when Nox had first explained to her the levels of learning within his doctrine. But after a few years, she began to realize it was futile for her to keep holding out the hope that she would take Jon's place. The irritating truth was that she just wasn't as strong in the Force as Jon, or any of the other Stark children were. To be sure, she could do a few tricks, but what took her an extreme effort to accomplish, Jon and the others could do as easily as if they were walking.

Talisa staying by his side however had been a relatively new development. After Nox had cured greyscale on Dacey, the Karstark boy, and the other two, the noblewoman from Volantis had pretty much stuck to the man's side like tar on the side of a ship, picking his mind every waking second. At first, Asha had thought that the noble woman was infatuated with Nox. An idea which made her chuckle, especially at the thought of what would happen when they returned to the North and he reunited with his lover, Nyra. That woman might have once been a serving girl, but Nox had raised her well above her station and she'd grown fangs, _sharp_ fangs. It was a not-so-hidden secret that she'd nearly beaten the backside of a particularly ambitious whore red when the whore had tried to sneak into Nox's private chambers, which Nyra had been using to take a bath at the time.

But it quickly became apparent that Talisa wasn't interested in him physically, an extremely odd thought to Asha as she would easily admit that Nox was perhaps one, if not _the_, most handsome man she'd ever met. But Talisa didn't seem to care about that. Instead, her interest in him was purely for his knowledge, nothing else. Alternating between watching the slowly approaching island chain and Nox, Asha was able to glimpse a peak as Nox used his powers to lift a section of rope in front of Jon and Talisa and tie it into several knots before setting it back down on the deck.

Seeing such a casual display of his power brought back memories of Valyria. She'd seen the destruction he'd caused when he rampaged through the Pyke firsthand years ago when he almost singlehandedly ended her father's extremely short tenure as King of the Iron Islands. At the time, she thought that was his peak. But now, after watching what he'd done in Valyria, she was forced to accept the unthinkable. He hadn't even been taking things seriously when he'd invaded Pyke with the Starks. If he had, there wouldn't have been anything or anyone left alive. It was an incredibly chilling thought. And one that made her renew her vow that she would change the Ironborn, make them more than just reavers. Because if they did not change, if they went back to reaving the greenlanders once more, then Nox would come for them. And she doubted that he would hold back a second time.

Moving off the sorcerer and his little lesson he was giving, she scanned over the rest of the deck of the _Sea Wolf_. Which honestly, was sparsely populated even at this time of day with the sails at full mast. Outside of the normal amount of crew required to be on hand, the only ones of note were the Dornish and the Lannister sitting together, of all things. And talking…amicably.

_'Honestly_,' she thought with a shake of her head and a slight chuckle. '_A Lannister sitting with the Martells and talking with them like they are old friends. Any doubts I might have had about Nox's ability to do the impossible have been greatly diminished. Thought it might have helped Gerion's cause when his first action was to beg forgiveness from Obara for nearly stabbing her in the back and then following up his apology by calling his brother an ambitious cunt_.'

Seeing that they were now close enough to see the first of the Stepstones, Asha cranked the wheel of the _Sea Wolf_, turning to port so they could align their starboard side with the island chain and make their way towards Dorne, where they would be harboring for a day or so to resupply and drop off their Dornish passengers. As the ship leveled out, she felt something. A nagging in the back of her mind that would not leave her alone. A nagging that she had grown accustomed to after hours spent under Nox's tutelage as he tried to coax out what power she had.

"Take the wheel," she commanded, not looking nor caring as to which sob grabbed the wheel as she turned her back and walked to the very aft of the ship and peered out into the distance.

Tugging at a small metal cylinder on her belt, she pulled on the tube as it extended to four times its original length and held one end up to her eye. _'Myrish eye glass_,' she smiled as she closed one eye. '_Heard about em when I was younger, never thought I would see one in my time and always thought they were a waste of…shite_.'

"An Ironborn leaving the helm of a ship. Never thought I'd see the day."

Not rising to the bait, Asha merely held the eyeglass out for Manderly to take. "Straight behind us, on the horizon."

Blinking at her curt manner, Manderly took the eyeglass from her and held it up to his pudgy face. "Looks like, two longboa – no. Two galleons. Both flying colorful banners. Can't quite make them out with the wind on our backs…More than likely merchant vessels from Lys or Volantis on route to Dorne or perhaps Oldtown."

"Unlikely," Asha countered, taking the eyeglass back. The two galleons were already starting to get slightly larger in the eyeglass, enough so that she could start making out the colors of the banners flying high on their main mast. "The ships came from within the Stepstones, and the banners are not those of Tyrosh, Myr, Pentos, or Braavos. Those aren't merchant vessels."

Manderly made the connection quick enough, "Pirates."

"Aye," Asha nodded, lowering the eyeglass. "And even with us at full mast with the wind at our backs, they are gaining on us quickly."

"Who is gaining on us quickly?"

She just barely managed to keep herself from jumping, Manderly wasn't so fortunate. Though it was a testament to the carpenters that built the _Sea Wolf_ that the floorboarding held under the force of the fat man landing flat on his ass. "Fuck, sorcerer, you trying to make my heart go out?"

"If I was trying to kill you Manderly, you wouldn't know until you were already dead," Nox deadpanned before turning towards her. "What do you see?"

"Two ships, at least galleons in size. Probably a crew of fifty strong on each." Asha explained, moving to off the eyeglass to Nox on reflex, only to stop as she realized just how stupid such an offer would be to a man with no working eyes. "Both flying banners with colors corresponding to either Lys or Volantis, but they sailed out from the Stepstones and are making their way towards us at full mast."

"Pirates then." Nox nodded, seemingly unsurprised. "Not surprising. Our journey to Valyria was not necessarily a well-kept secret, especially in Volantis. More than likely they were waiting for us to finish our little expedition and then waited to ambush us at a location of their choosing, and a place where they could garner more likeminded allies to help take down a ship the size of the _Sea Wolf_."

Asha immediately made the connection in her mind as to just how they would know if they'd been successful in their venture or not. "The two longboats that attacked the _Sea Wolf_ while it was anchored offshore waiting for us to return. They must've been sailing nonstop since the engagement to make it back to wherever they made berth to set all of this up."

"Benefits of using smaller and faster ships," Nox commented idly.

"Two galleons, no matter their speed, won't be a match against the _Sea Wolf_, Lord Nox," Manderly boasted, having finally managed to regain his footing. "We'll show these pirates that the North is not one to be trifled with."

Again, Nox seemed to ignore Manderly as she felt his attention on her being. "Asha, what would you do if you wanted to take a ship like this?"

Frowning, Asha thought for several long moments. She'd learned the hard way, the very hard way, not to simply answer any of Nox's question with the first thing that popped into your head. She still wasn't sure just how he managed to use that lightning trick of his to hit her backside while she was facing him and he was across the room not even facing her. So, she contemplated, deeply and carefully. Not only with her mind, but she thought through the Force as well, just as Nox had taught her to do. "Two galleons cannot take on a ship the size of the _Sea Wolf_ and expect to come out on top. Not unless they loaded up their ships with enough men to almost capsize them. But I would do just as they are now. Use my galleons to draw the attention of my target, then once engaged I would have smaller longboats or even other galleons that were waiting in ambush to strike."

Nox seemed to ponder her strategy, nodding his head as she spoke. "And on the flipside, how would you defend against such a strategy?"

She didn't need to think as long to come up with an answer this time around. "The _Sea Wolf_ is strong, but even she can be overrun if attacked from multiple sides. Our best option is to fight the two behind us and then after we've finished them off go after whoever else is out there. I'd have the sails pulled to half – no, quarter – mast and let those two catch up. While they were, I'd order the crew to begin preparing quietly for battle to not tip our hand. When they get close enough to make their move, we preempt them and strike first. And, if for some reason they turn out to just be simple merchant vessels, then we don't attack and go about our day."

"An ambush is only an ambush if one party does not know about it, otherwise it can be used against the aggressor. A sound strategy, Asha," Nox congratulated her, which caused her chest to swell with pride as Nox was not a man known for handing out compliments easily. "Well, Ser Manderly? What are you waiting for? You heard her. Get the men ready for battle following her instructions."

To her utmost surprise, the fat man started barking out orders that followed her strategy exactly. "What?" Nox asked, as she glanced towards him. "Your strategy was sound. No reason not to follow it. Even Manderly knows that. Stop doubting yourself just because of your ancestors' stupidity and look to the future."

After he walked away, Asha turned back out to the horizon. The two galleons were now close enough to see without the use of the eyeglass. '_Well, time to show these Northerners why the true Ironborn rule the seas_.' She thought, leaving her spot on the deck to retreat to her cabin so she could collect her axes and don her leather armor. Steel had the benefit of offering the greater amount of protection. But during a sea battle you really did not want to be wearing anything heavy. If you fell into the water, then your armor became a weight that would drag you to the bottom of the sea.

By the time she'd got her leather jerkin on tight, grabbed her axes and made it back on deck, the two galleons were close enough for her to start making out individual details of each ship with the naked eye. The biggest clue was that colors they were flying. While matching Lys, they were incorrectly patterned. Hells, one was even upside down!

_'Definitely not merchant ships,_' she thought as she made her way back to the helm, taking care not to fully acknowledge the men who were hiding as best they could along the ship's railing with bows in their hands, waiting to spring their own ambush. Feeling her heartbeat wildly in her chest as she gripped her axe tightly, she took her place beside the sorcerer and Jon, who were also standing next to the helm alongside the fat Manderly and Prince Oberyn.

"Well, Asha, it seems that your hunch was spot on," Nox stated, nodding off into the distance in front of them towards the Stepstones. "I can sense a lot of…less than savory individuals perhaps a league or so ahead of us. We should be able to deal with the two annoyances behind us before the others crawl out from under the rocks they're waiting under."

"And how are we going to handle the two behind us Nox?" Oberyn asked, risking a glance over his shoulder. "The scorpions onboard are not in position to fire accurately at either ship. And turning quickly to give the two a full broadside is not a strong point of this ship of yours."

"We won't need to use the scorpions on the galleons," Nox countered as he motioned towards the galleon approaching on their starboard side. "When it starts, have our archers concentrate on that ship. Once they've cleared an opening, a boarding party led by Jon and Asha here will clear the deck and claim the ship. I'll deal with the other galleon."

"You'll deal with the other galleon…by yourself, sorcerer?" Manderly gaped. "I – I respect your strength, Lord Sorcerer, but isn't that—?"

"Overkill? Yes, I suppose it is," Nox commented, making those who had seen him in Valyria chuckle darkly at the thought of just what was about to happen. "But it can't be helped, I suppose. Oh, and Jon?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Don't hold back the advantage you now have. And give these bastards no quarter. If it were up to them, we would all be dead or in chains. And as for Dacey, Asha, Ellaria and Obara… Well, it is better not to say what fate would await them should these pirates have their way."

Asha wasn't exactly sure just what Nox meant by Jon not holding back his advantage, but the bastard sure did as he gained a hardened look in his eye and his hand twitched towards belt. Specifically, towards a long slender leather pouch that hung on his belt. _'Well, no point in wondering about it for long_,' she thought as the two galleons drew close enough for her to start making out the members of the crews on board. _'The mystery will be answered soon enough_.'

Just as the three ships were about to become close enough to reach out and touch one another, the colors on both galleons dropped while the sounds of dozens of bow strings snapping filled the air. Dozens of arrows arched up from each ship, aiming for the deck of the _Sea Wolf_. "Take cover!" Ser Manderly shouted, only for Nox to calmly turn around and raise his hand towards the sky.

All the arrows that'd been in flight just…stopped. Everyone, save for those who'd seen what he could do, stared awestruck at his display of power. Then, as if he were a puppet master pulling on strings, Nox turned his hand around and every arrow that'd been launched their way turned as well, pointing back towards where they came from. A snap of Nox's fingers, and the arrows shot off like they'd been launched from crossbows. Screams of fear and pain came from the two attacking galleons as the men onboard were suddenly trying to hide behind whatever they could to protect themselves from their own barrage of arrows. "Well?" Nox asked, turning his head around as the crew all stood, awestruck by his sudden display of power. "Return fire already, or I might just decide to use the lot of you as projectiles next time."

The threat was enough to spur the men onboard to rise from their hiding places and begin returning fire with their own arrows. Gripping her axes tightly, Asha grabbed a rope and hook that was nearby and waited for the ship to get close enough for her to board. Nox however didn't bother to wait as he walked to railing on the opposite side of the ship from her, completely unfazed by the arrows passing close to him. Had she not seen what she saw in Valyria, she would've sworn that she was drunk. But, having already experienced just what Nox could do, what happened next didn't even phase her.

She could feel the air grow colder as Nox held out his hand towards the ship on their port side, his fist closed tightly as if he were grasping hold of something. Sailors on both galleons and even on the _Sea Wolf_ all cried out in fear as the galleon started to rise. The ship rose steadily into the air until the hull was completely clear of the water and above even the deck of the _Sea Wolf_. Then, without saying a word, Nox rotated his closed fist. The ship rolled in response, flipping over slowly as the men onboard cried out and screamed in fear as they clutched onto whatever they could as the ship was turned upside down in the air. Once the ship had been fully rotated, Nox opened his hand, and the ship crashed mast first into the seawater, crushing all of those who couldn't get out of the way.

"Stop gawking like a bunch of greenboys seeing a freshly shaved cunt for the first time!" Asha yelled, smacking one of the archers onboard with the flat of her axe. "Keep firing at those fuckers before they get their shit together again!"

"Sorcerer!" Manderly cried. "Ahead on our starboard side! Six longboats coming out from the Stepstones!"

"Well, they didn't waste any time, did they?" Nox asked, turning his back on the sinking ship he'd overturned with next to no apparent effort. "Plan stays the same. Asha, Jon, go and claim that galleon. I'll help deal with the longboats."

"Yes Master," Jon nodded, as did Asha only leaving out the whole 'Master' comment.

As Nox walked away towards the bow of the ship, Asha could no longer hold herself back. '_Fuck this! This is taking too damn long!_' Dropping the rope and ignoring the others, she took off as fast as she could towards the railing. Using what little power she had to strengthen her muscles, she planted one foot onto the railing and pushed off as hard as she could. The air passed her by in a rush, rustling her hair as she jumped off the _Sea Wolf_ and towards the deck of the remaining galleon. The moment her feet touched the hardwood decking, she tucked her head and rolled to soften the impact of the landing. Coming out of her roll, she shot up to her feet, both axes in her hands ready for the first poor fool that thought they could get the better of her.

She didn't have to wait long as the first of her soon to be victims ran at her with a worn saber raised high. But before he could reach her, he was suddenly launched off his feet and thrown over the side of the ship. "Damn it all, Jon!" she yelled, spying the bastard boy land on the deck right next to her. "He was mine!"

The young man shook his head and motioned towards the rest of the attacking crew, who were all staring at the two of them with wide eyes and shaking weapons. "There's plenty more here for you."

"True," Asha smirked maliciously as she revealed in the fight to come. "Whatever this 'advantage' is that Nox says you have, you might want to bring it out. Either that or get your pretty ass back on the _Sea Wolf_ and leave these fuckers to me."

"As you wish," Jon said, reaching into the leather pouch at his side.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting Jon's so-called advantage to be, but it certainly wasn't what she was seeing now. A long cylinder like an eyeglass, only silver and black in coloring. She didn't even need to ask to know what it was, even though there was only one other like it she'd ever even heard of. _'No, it's impossible! Then…he can make more?_' Any doubts to just what Jon was holding were firmly put to rest as Jon's hand twitched and a pure as snow white blade emerged from the hilt in his hands. The blade humming as it cut through the air.

"Well then Asha," Jon smirked, holding his blade in front of his face before sweeping it down and to his right. "Shall we begin?"

Leaping headfirst into the fray, Jon brought his lightsaber down on the nearest unsuspecting pirate. The idiot tried to bring the club he was holding up to block Jon's attack, but the lightsaber cut clean through the club and the man that'd been holding it. Not breaking stride, Jon dodged sideways, avoiding a thrust from a saber before retaliating by thrusting his lightsaber through the man's neck.

"_Fuck this!_" Asha screamed, slapping her chest with the flat of her axe, "I'm not about to let some _pretty _Northerner with a _fancy sword_ show up a _true_ Ironborn on the seas!"

Rushing forward, Asha focused on one of the fools that obviously thought Jon was the bigger threat and therefore had turned his back on her. Raising the axe in her right hand, she bought the Valyrian steel down with enough force to split the man's skull wide open and spill his brains out onto the decking. Her axe still logged in what was left of the man's skull, Asha parried a wild swing with the axe in her left before kicking the dead fool in the back to free her axe.

Time lost meaning as she stood back to back with Jon as the two of them methodically worked their way through the men onboard the galleon. '_Amateurs, the lot of them_,' Asha nearly spat as she cut down another would-be raider, her eleventh since she stepped foot onto the galleon. '_Attacking a superior vessel in full daylight, pathetic. At least they came with a full crew and multiple ships. But still, in the end, their numbers mean nothing against a true Ironborn!_'

After cutting down two more, Asha held her bloody axes ready for her next opponent, only to discover to her utmost surprise that were none left. Everyone who had been onboard the galleon were dead. Be it from her axes, Jon's fancy new blade, or from the archers perched up on the _Sea Wolf_.

"Damn," Asha muttered lowering her guard slightly. "And here I was hoping for an ac—"

Something solid struck her side, and it took her a moment realize that the 'something' was in fact Jon's hand. "What the fuck Jon!" she cursed, scrambling to get back to her feet, "What the fuck ar-"

The words died in her throat as she saw a crossbow bolt still quivering in the mast of the galleon. Which just so happened to be right where her head would've been had Jon not knocked her out of the way when he did. "Fuck, thought I had the bitch with that one."

Turning to the source of the voice, Asha found who she could only assume was the captain of the galleon. The man had a darker shade of skin and was wearing a ridiculous looking overcoat with a discarded crossbow at his feet and a saber in his hand. "Well, perhaps tis better this way. I get to kill the boy, take his fancy sword, and then go balls deep in your ass, girl, before selling you off to the highest bidder."

Growling, Asha leapt up to her feet, firmly intending to end the fucker. Only for Jon's outstretched arm to stop her. "There is no point in continuing this," Jon said. "Your men are dead. And the rest of your fleet is destroyed or surrendered. There is no point in continuing this."

Blinking, Asha risked a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, the longboats that had descended upon the _Sea Wolf_ were either sunk, sinking, or had sailors from the _Wolf_ scouring across their decks and roping prisoners together. _'Fuck me, just how long were Jon and I at it?_'

The captain merely chuckled. "You think I don't know that, boy? But I still have some crew left below deck, useless dregs, but they will serve their purpose of getting me back to holdings. But I'm not about to run away without some form of compensation. And as I said, I've taken a fancy to your sword and the woman you fight alongside. So, I think I'll be taking you both."

"Jon," Asha said, using her bloodied axe in her right hand to push the bastard aside. "Step aside. This fucker is mine."

Jon spared her a glance, but she didn't look back at him, her focus only on the captain before her. '_This fucker wants to claim me through the iron price…So be it! I'll teach him what it means to pay that price!_'

Reaffirming her grip, she shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet and shot forward towards the captain without warning. When she was within arm's reach, the captain lunged forward, his saber aiming for the center of her chest. Throwing her chest back, she slid feet first across the deck, her axes swiping at the man's leg as she passed. The captain just barely managed to evade her, but the move cost him precious time. Time in which she was able to get back to her feet and engage him once more. The captain was skilled, there was no doubt about that. His strikes were quick, accurate, and used as little motion as possible to conserve his energy. But compared to her normal sparing partners; namely Nox, Jon, Robb and recently Oberyn, the man might as well have been as mobile as stone for all the swiftness he showed.

All too soon, the captain made his mistake by performing an ill-advised lunge into an opening Asha had purposely presented. Dodging to her left, she brought her right axe around and buried it into his sword hand. As the man was still screaming in pain, she followed up by kneecapping him with her left axe. Then once he was on his knees, she let go of her left axe and brought her right above her head and held it in both hands. With a yell, she brought the Valyrian steel down onto the top of the man's skull. The axe cut clean through his skull and neck, stopping only when the handle ended up getting caught on the top of the man's chest.

"Balls deep in me, will you!?" she shouted, spitting on the man's corpse. "There's only one man that I would let touch me like that, and you are not fucking him!"

Wrenching her left axe free from the man's knee, she took several deep breaths to calm herself before turning and facing Jon. The bastard was staring at her with wide eyes as he looked back and forth between her and the man she'd partially split in two with a throwing axe. "What?" She glared, to which Jon merely shook his head.

"Nothing," he said, looking around the galleon. "I think that's all of them. Let's tie this ship onto the _Sea Wolf_ and head back to Lord Nox."

By the time Asha and Jon found themselves back aboard the _Sea Wolf_, the sun was nearing the horizon. The massacre, for that had been exactly what it was, had been over relatively quickly, but the cleanup had taken some time. In all, the pirates had attacked them with two fully crewed galleons and six longships. Of those, one galleon was now resting on the bottom of the sea along with four of the longships. The vessels that had survived were now tied off onto the _Sea Wolf_. The surviving members of the various crews, perhaps only fifty in total, stood onboard the _Sea Wolf_ bound together into two rows with barely any space between them while around them the men of the North jeered and laughed at their pathetic attack. And sitting before the prisoners, remaining completely stoic was none other than Nox, flanked on either side by herself and Jon while the fat Manderly paced in front of the prisoners.

"You men stand accused of the crime of piracy," Ser Manderly bellowed, his girth jiggling slightly as he paced in front of the prisoners. "Under the orders of King Robert of House Baratheon, First of his Name, Protector of the Andals and the First Men; the penalty for piracy is-"

"Fuck your fat king!" one of the men near the end spat. "The Narrow Sea is ruled by no man! Not your king! Not your gods forsaken demon you have tamed! You have no right to ju- ah!"

The sound of bones breaking filled the air as the prisoner who'd spoken arched up onto his toes, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he gasped for air until his neck snapped at an unnatural angle and he fell to the ground dead.

"Anyone else feel like speaking up?" Nox asked, his hand held out in a tight fist. "No? Come now, surely one of you have an opinion on the matter at hand. So, speak up. You might not get another chance."

None of the prisoners said a word. Not even when Nox rose to his feet and approached them. Unless one could consider whimpering and pissing their pants as saying something. "No? Nothing? Well then, Ser Manderly, please continue."

Still staring at the corpse, Manderly had to visibly shake himself. "Right, um…You are all guilty of the crime of piracy. The penalty for which is dependent on the severity of your crimes. You will be either flogged, sent to take the Black, or put to death."

"There is no need to judge based on the severity of their crimes, Ser Manderly," Nox cut in, pulling out the captains log that Asha had taken from the surviving galleon. "According to the recently departed captain, this little fleet has been working together for over a year now. Raiding and pillaging the trade lines around the Stepstones, and you even managed to capture and kill an entire Dornish crew. Tsk tsk…not very smart."

Watching as Nox put his hands behind his back, Asha felt the familiar warmth spread through her body and pool in her nether regions as she watched Nox utterly destroy the fools before him. '_By the Drowned God…I respect Nyra far too much to poach on her territory…But if they ever gave me the chance, I would gladly give every first I have to this man!_'

"You are all guilty of rape, murder, pillaging, torture, and of selling people into slavery," Nox stated, walking up and down the line of prisoners. "Not a single one of you is innocent in these crimes. And there is only one fate awaiting you."

At this, several of the prisoners wet themselves as many more began to whimper and a few even started to openly beg for mercy. "But," Nox stated, holding up his hand. "I am not a wasteful man. I see an opportunity here to help alleviate some of the issues surrounding the Stepstones. So, in the interest of making things better for trade in the future, I've decided to go about a different route. Tell me, Asha, how many would it take to sail one of the longboats back to where it makes berth?"

She hadn't been expected to be called on, so she had to fight back the blush that she knew was forming as she was torn from her fantasy of Nox bending her over the railing and having his way with her. "Five would suffice. It would be difficult, but doable."

"Five, very well," Nox nodded, walking up and down the line. "This one. That one. Those two and the one at the end that pissed and shit himself. Release them."

The five Nox pointed to were all cut from their bindings and moved away from the rest. "You five," Nox stated. "Will be delivering our message to any other pirates that call the Stepstones their home. And this…this is our message."

Nox moved so fast that Asha could barely follow him. One moment he was standing at one end of the line of prisoners with his back turned towards them. And the next he had his fire-sword drawn and as turning towards the prisoners. Only he didn't strike the nearest prisoner down. No. He threw his sword. The blade spun in a tight circle, cutting through the prisoners' necks one after another until it reached the end of the line. And then it simply stopped moving and flew back to Nox's waiting hand. By the time the first body hit the deck, Nox had killed all fifty or so prisoners and sheathed his sword.

"Ser Manderly," Nox called out as the five chosen prisoners proceeded to piss and shit themselves as they were approached by the Northerners. "Load the heads onto the more damaged longboat and then throw these five onto it. As for you lot, you get to leave with your lives today. But do not mistake this as mercy. You will deliver the heads of your fallen to whoever you call a leader and tell them that should there be any more pirate attacks on the trade lines between Essos and Westeros, I will personally sweep through the Stepstones. And I will not be merciful a second time. Oh, and should any of you get the bright idea of throwing the heads overboard once you're out of sight, don't. I will _know_ if you do. And you will suffer in agony for hours before I allow you to die. Do not test me on this. Now, get out of my sight."

As the prisoners and heads were loaded onto one of the longboats, Asha sidled up next to Nox. "Can you really do that? Know if they throw the heads overboard and kill them from a distance."

To her surprise, Nox just shrugged. "Eh, I probably could if I wanted too. But I'm not going too. There's no need as they believe that I can kill them from here. And there is a lesson for you, Asha. It doesn't necessarily matter what you _can_ do. It matters what people _believe_ you can do."

Pondering his words, Asha watched dispassionately as the surviving pirates were set upon their way with the shipload of heads. Once they were on their way, Asha made her way back towards the helm where Manderly and Nox were discussing what to do with the remaining longboat and galleon they had tied off to the _Sea Wolf_.

"Shame to leave them behind," Manderly was saying as she arrived. "They might be pirate vessels, but they are well made."

"Then there's no reason to leave them behind," Nox replied. "We can tow the longboat behind the _Sea Wolf_ easily to Dorne with us. Perhaps the Martells will be interested in purchasing it off us. As for the galleon…Asha, you have captaincy of the galleon until we return to the North."

Her mind froze. "What?"

"Did I stutter?" Nox asked. "I said that you have captaincy of the galleon until we return North. After that…perhaps you could talk to Lord Stark and try and convince him to allow you to keep it as name-day present or something of the like. Either way, for now the ship is yours."

Nox turned back and continued speaking with Manderly, but Asha didn't care. Her attention was solely and only on the galleon tied off onto the _Sea Wolf_. A ship. Her ship. One she'd earned through the iron price. '_The moment Nyra says I can share their bed…I'm going to show them both a passion greater than the sea!_'

* * *

After the brief distraction provided by the incredibly ill-conceived attack by the pirates of the Stepstones, the rest of the voyage by sea towards Sunspear was relatively peaceful. Those that'd been afflicted with greyscale had made a full recovery and, in general, the moral of the ship was extremely high. After all, they had just succeeded in doing something no one in the past four-centuries could claim to have done. Made their way to the very heart of the ruins of Valyria and live to return and tell the tale. And the fact that they could now see the impressive structure of the Sunspear, the walled city that served as the seat of House Martell and the capital of Dorne, the moral had skyrocketed with the knowledge that they were truly back in familiar waters.

"I don't suppose that I could convince you to stay any longer than just a night at most, my friend?" Prince Oberyn asked as he sauntered up next to him, his Valyrian spear resting against his shoulder as the _Sea Wolf_ slowly made its way into the harbor on the south side of the city. "I know that my brother, niece, nephews, and my daughters are all very excited to meet you."

"The offer is tempting Oberyn," Nox replied, mildly shocked that he'd meant the sentiment. "But I fear that we cannot afford more than a night at most. The men of the _Sea Wolf_ are of the North, and it has been little over six moons since we left White Harbor. They are anxious to return to their homes and their families."

He could tell that Oberyn was giving him a sidelong glance. "You don't fool me, my friend. You've been anxious ever since we put the Stepstones to our backs. The men and women onboard are not the _only_ ones anxious to return to the warmth of their ladies back home. I wouldn't be surprised if your lady Nyra will be walking bowlegged for some time after you return to her."

Nox didn't deny the accusation, because Oberyn was right. The ache of not having Nyra by his side was starting to worsen the longer he was away from her. And what wasn't helping matters was the strange sensations he kept getting from the Force every time he tried to meditate with her in mind. Something had happened. He didn't know what is was or even if it had or had not happened just yet, but some sort of change was happening around Nyra that he couldn't see. It was starting to frustrate him to no end. Not to mention, ever since they destroyed the false god in Valyria, aspects of his foresight had started to darken. He was unable to come up with an explanation as for why that might've been. And on top of all those things, Oberyn was also correct in that he missed Nyra's warmth. After all, it had been over six months and would probably be another month at best before they made landfall in the North. Besides, listening to Oberyn and Ellaria – _night_ _after night_ – was starting to wear down on even _his_ self-control.

Putting thoughts of Nyra and his inevitable return North to the side, Nox focused his sight instead on the walled city before them. It was truly an impressive sight to behold, as he was starting to become accustomed to in this world. Honestly, the sheer architectural genius of almost every city or keep he'd encountered during his years on this world could make even the most skilled amongst the Empire seem like floundering incompetents.

Sunspear was a walled city that was composed of three massive winding walls which encircled one another which protected miles of roadways all condensed tightly together. Honestly, it would be insanely difficult to take the city if one were to try. Three sides of the city were surrounded by the bay while the only access point by land was protected by a secondary city just outside the walls. Shadow City, he believed Oberyn called it. Even if an invading army were to breach the first wall, they would have to either choose scaling the next several layers of walls or traversing the miles labyrinth roadways between the walls. Neither of which were pleasant options. But the city wasn't just built to protect against invaders. It was also built to withstand the harsh weather of the desert which covered most of Dorne.

"Well, it seems that our arrival will not be a quiet one," Oberyn sighed, nodding towards the docks the _Sea Wolf_ was being guided towards so they could tie off. "That man there is Ser Manfrey Martell, my cousin and the Castellan of Sunspear."

"Does this mean that your brother knows that you're on board?" Nox asked.

"More than likely," Oberyn conceded. "The crew I brought with me to Essos likely returned some weeks ago and informed my brother about my decision to accompany you on your little excursion. No doubt he has quite the berating waiting for me the moment I enter his presence once more. Well, no time like the present, as they say."

As the ship was tied off and the gangplank lowered, Nox and Oberyn were quickly joined by Ellaria, Obara, and Jon. Once all together, the group made their way off the ship and towards the growing crowd of people who were staring at the _Sea Wolf_ with awe. At the head of the crowd was a man who resembled Oberyn greatly, though he was a bit stockier than the Prince of Dorne and was wearing a set of what looked like ornamental armor complete with a sword at his waist. Oberyn, ever one for the dramatic, embraced the man with a flourish and a kiss to either cheek. "Ah, dear cousin Manfrey! I wasn't expecting the castellan of Sunspear to greet me in person! Are my brother and beloved niece and nephew resting at the Water Gardens?"

"Prince Oberyn, welcome home," the man returned the greeting cordially before his eyes flickered briefly towards himself and Jon, an air of suspicion growing around him as he did so. "And, no, Prince Doran and his children have not gone to the Water Gardens, so you cannot postpone your fate this time."

Oberyn didn't appear to be phased at all by the not-so-veiled threat, but he did notice the curious glance that'd been sent towards Nox and Jon. "Ah, forgive me! I forgot to introduce my new friends and guests of Dorne! This is Lord Alim Nox, the Northern Sorcerer, the Slayer of Ser Armory Lorch. And the young man beside him is his Apprentice, the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, Jon Snow."

Whatever curiosity remained in Oberyn's cousin disappeared immediately and was replaced by an all-too-familiar sensation of fear and awe. "Lord Sorcerer?" Ser Manfrey gaped, while around them the crowd started breaking out into loud whispers as people began jostling for position to see what was going on. "I – We were not expecting you to arrive and – and in the presence of our wayward Prince, no less."

Used to the reaction his presence could cause from his time traveling the Empire, Nox merely waved off the man's concern. "There is no cause for concern, Ser Manfrey. Prince Oberyn has been a most interesting and amusing traveling companion for these last few weeks. And good spear to have at one's side when it is needed."

The stench of fear remained within the man, but at least it had lessened slightly. "Yes, well, umm…If you would please follow me, my Lord, Prince Oberyn, I will lead you to where Prince Doran is waiting."

Falling in step beside Oberyn, Nox kept his senses on high as the group made their way off the docks and towards the towering walls that protected Sunspear. "Normally, I would take the time to show you and young Jon all the delights our fair city has to offer," Oberyn explained as they walked along the edge of the first wall before coming upon a massive gate. "But, as I know you are pressed for time, we shall be taking the Threefold Gate path directly to the Old Palace to meet with my brother."

The city itself was mightily impressive. At a rough estimate, the entire area of Sunspear was only slightly larger than Winterfell, but thanks to what he could only describe as incredible city planning, they would be able to fit the entire population of Winterfell and Winter Town within the walls of Sunspear several times over and still have room to spare. The culture was also vastly different, such that he felt that the Dornish had more in common with the people of Volantis than they did with the people of the North. '_It's understandable_,' he thought as they passed through a bazaar where peddlers, whores, fire-dancers, and mummers plied their trades. '_Westeros is huge, and Sunspear is about as far as one can get from the North and still claim to be on Westeros soil. Still, such vast difference in cultures…The literature I've read does not do it justice. I feel I'm going to have to start taking trips around Westeros to get a better idea of the cultural and political climate I now find myself stuck in. If only there were faster methods of travel…Well, there are. But they've yet to be invented here yet. Perhaps I'll have to start planting the theories behind internal combustion or steam engines in the minds of my students at the Winterfell College. As I really don't feel like spending the rest of my life on horseback trying to get from one city to the next_.'

As they passed through the third gate, Nox found himself tilting his head back as he took in the beauty that they entered. Unlike most of the city or even the land surrounding the city, the grounds of the inner palace area were relatively green and very well maintained. And in the center were three structures. A rather squat structure that stood in stark contrast to the two towers next to it, one of which was easily the tallest tower Nox had seen in his time here on this world.

"The Sandship, the Tower of the Sun, and the Spear Tower," Prince Oberyn explained, pointing to each tower of note within the center of Sunspear. "My dear brother will be waiting for us in the Tower of the Sun, no doubt in his private rooms as it is still too early in the day for him to hold court. Obara, dear, why don't you bring young Jon here to my squire, Daemon Sand? I'm sure the two will hit it off well in the yard. And then go and find your sisters and cousins. Ellaria, my dear, I know you're itching to see our daughters again, so I will not hold you any longer. I'll come find you and our beautiful girls after my brother is finished with me."

The three nodded and quickly left, leaving Nox alone with Oberyn and Manfrey. "Come, sorcerer," Oberyn said, motioning towards the more ornate structure. "My brother is most anxious to meet you."

Following Oberyn into the Tower of the Sun, Nox took a moment to marvel once again at the elaborate layout presented to him. High vaulted ceiling with marble columns and flooring. A glass and gold laced ceiling that allowed the light of the sun to filter and provide illumination. And at the far end of the main hall was a dais were the twin seats of the rulers of Dorne sat. One inlaid with a spear and the other with a blazing sun. '_A symbol of their heritage,_' he thought as they passed by the thrones. '_If my history is correct, the spear designates House Martell, and the sun is for their Rhoynish roots through Princess Nymeria. Fascinating. And beautiful_.'

After leaving the throne room and walking up a few flights of stairs, they found themselves before an open doorway that was guarded by a dark-skinned man that was easily as large as his old companion Khem Val. His sheer mass was pressing outwards against the copper scaled shirt he was wearing. And if Nox had to guess, he would put the axe he held to weigh nearly as much as himself. '_Honestly_,' Nox thought, just barely managing to suppress the chuckle. '_How a preindustrial world can produce men the size of the Mountain and this giant now before me I will never know. Perhaps something in the food? Or maybe it's the Force presence of the planet itself? Who knows?_'

"Ah, dear Areo, good to see your smiling face once more," Oberyn greeted the man joyfully. Though Nox assumed the 'smiling face' was said in jest as the man looked as hard as durasteel.

"Prince Oberyn," Areo greeted the Prince back before shifting his focus to Nox. "Prince Doran is waiting for you. Not this one or Ser Manfrey."

"Oh, don't be so formal, Areo," Oberyn smiled, patting Nox on the shoulder. "This is my new friend, Lord Alim Nox. Perhaps you've heard of him? Or perhaps you've heard of his more well-known moniker, 'the Northern Sorcerer'? My brother certainly has. After all, he sent me out to learn as much as I could. And after meeting him in person, well, I decided that the best way to really get to know someone is to travel with them. And we've had quite the interesting few weeks, haven't we, Nox?"

"That we have, Oberyn," he responded in the same light tone as Oberyn.

"There, now you know who he is," Oberyn said, stepping forward. "Now, why don't you move aside my large friend and let me see my brother."

Areo didn't respond, instead he simply moved aside in order to let Oberyn and Nox pass him by while Ser Manfrey took his leave. '_Interesting_,' Nox thought, giving the man a once over. '_His skill is on par with Oberyn's, or perhaps even more so. And he isn't afraid of me, even knowing my reputation. If he had been born in the Empire, he would've been a shoo-in for the Imperial Royal Guard_.'

Inside the room were three men, two of whom were wearing the grey-robes of the Maesters and the third was sitting in a rather primitive but elaborate wheelchair of all things. "Brother," Oberyn called out, making his way over to the man in the wheelchair and kneeling before him quickly before taking his hand.

"Brother," Prince Doran greeted back, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It is good to see you that you have returned. I was most distressed when the crew you left with returned without you and tales of you running off with the sorcerer of all people."

"Yes, well, when you are offered the chance to explore the lands of the fallen dragon lords beside a living legend, you can't really say no," Oberyn replied good naturedly as he rose back to his feet.

"Indeed, and I can see that your venture was indeed a success," Doran said, nodding towards the spear still in Oberyn's hand.

"Yes, it was," Oberyn replied, handing the spear over to his brother. "We fought side by side with against beasts straight out of nightmares, raided the vaults of Valyria, killed an undead dragon, and even obliterated a forsaken dragon lord sorcerer."

"Sounds like quite the adventure, Oberyn," Doran noted with a quirked eyebrow, handing the spear back to his brother and turning his attention towards Nox. "I take it that I owe you my thanks, Lord Sorcerer, for ensuring that my brother returned to his home unscathed?"

With his naming, both Maesters froze as fear tore through them. Strangely, though, it wasn't the same fear as that which was present in Ser Manfrey. No, this time their fear was all-encompassing. As if he were their very worst nightmare come to life before them.

"In part, Prince Doran," Nox replied, bowing his head slightly in greeting to hold proper decorum. "In truth, your brother proved himself invaluable to our success in Valyria."

"Flatter," Oberyn laughed. "I saw what you did when you leveled a part of Old Valyria. You didn't need any of us, except as pack mules, I suspect. But still, even if that was all I was, it was a privilege to fuck with those dragon lord cunts."

Leaning back in his chair, Doran waved the two Maesters off. "Caleotte, Myles. That will be all for today. And send out word that I will be in private talks for the rest of the day and will not be holding court."

"Yes, Prince Doran," both men said before they all but ran out of the room while trying to keep as much distance between themselves and him as they could.

"Interesting duo," Nox said, tilting his head towards the fleeing Maesters. "I haven't experienced that level of fear just from my mere presence in some time."

Grabbing the wheels of his chair, Doran brought himself over towards what Nox recognized as a cyvasse board. "It is a not-so-well-kept secret that the Maesters are wary of all things magic." Doran explained as he motioned for Nox to join him on the opposite side. "There are exceptions, of course. But most do not view that which they cannot explain in the best light."

Taking the offered seat, Nox took his time in examining Oberyn's older brother. They shared physical similarities and a fiery passion. But unlike his younger brother, Doran was very in control of himself. And even with just the briefest of passes, Nox could tell that the man had a mind like a steel trap. '_First Tywin Lannister, now Doran Martell_,' Nox thought as Oberyn went about filling a few wine glasses behind him. '_Two of the four top 'players of the game', as it were. And both live up to their reputation. Now, I just need to meet this Jon Arryn and Olenna Tyrell to see if the rumors regarding their prowess are indeed true._'

"Well," Oberyn said, giving each of them a glass of dark red wine. "I take it that you two have quite a bit to talk about. Most of which I've already heard. So, with your permission, brother, I would seek out my daughters. It has been some months since I last laid eyes on my beauties."

"Of course, brother," Doran said excusing Oberyn. "They have been most anxious for your return. But do not think this gets you out of the conversation we will be having soon about your disregard for my instructions."

"Why, brother, you wound me!" Oberyn cried out dramatically, "I followed your every instruction to the letter. I even went above and beyond by bringing the very man you were interested in home with me. And this is the thanks I get? A scolding. Perhaps I should've just stayed on the _Sea Wolf_ with you, Nox, and gone North. I've heard the women of the North are most _eager_ to keep warm."

"Enough, Oberyn," Doran sighed. No doubt used to his brother's antics. "We will talk later. Now leave us and tell Areo that we are not to be disturbed."

"As you say, brother. Nox, have a good game. And, brother, don't try and play too hard. This man is perhaps one of the best players I have ever met, even if he is new to the game," Oberyn said with a flourish before making his way out of the room, leaving Nox alone with Doran.

"Well then," Doran said, placing a screen in the middle of the board so that the two could place their cyvasse pieces where they so desired. "Shall we begin our game, sorcerer?"

* * *

Leaning against the arch leading out to her balcony high within the Tower of the Sun, Princess Arianne Martell, eldest daughter of Prince Doran Martell, took a moment to enjoy the warm breeze that fluttered her silken robes around her body while she idly listened to her cousins interrogate their sister who had accompanied her Uncle across the Narrow Sea. To say that her cousin Obara had experienced perhaps the adventure of a lifetime was understatement. Traveling to Valyria in the accompaniment of the Northern Sorcerer of all people. Raiding the vaults of the lost dragon lords and fighting against a dragon! An actual dragon! It made even Arianne's most interesting day seem utterly dull in comparison.

"Do you truly expect us to believe that a boy, a mere boy whose balls probably haven't even dropped yet, was able to take down a dragon, sister?"

Turning her attention away from the landscape of Sunspear and Shadow City, Arianne started paying closer attention to what her cousins were saying. Her companions for today, all of whom were her cousins, were currently lounging around her room. Obara was standing with her back straight as if she were a guard standing watch was usual for her eldest cousin, who was undoubtably the most serious of them. Her second cousin Nymeria was lounging across several cushions, her pale-yellow silken dress hugging her curves tightly while her black long braided hair laid draped across her shoulder and down between the valley of her breasts. Laying in a similar position to her sister, her third cousin and frequent bedmate, Tyene, was listening intently to her elder sister while slowly popping one grape after another into her mouth in an almost sensual manner while her golden hair was done up into an elaborate braid behind her head. And lastly, Elia, the eldest daughter of her Uncle's paramour Lady Ellaria Sand, laid on her front while using her elbows to prop herself up. At only ten name-days, the young Elia idolized her elder sisters and was hanging off every word that left Obara's mouth.

"That is exactly what I am saying, sister," Obara continued, completely unfazed with the dismissive tone of her sister Nymeria. "While the Sorcerer battled the creature that he claims was responsible for the Doom of Valyria, his Apprentice, Jon Snow, held off the flames of a dragon before cutting the beast down while the rest of us protected him from the stonemen."

"And how did he manage to cut the beast down?" Tyene asked, her tone lacking the disbelieving tone of her sisters. "The only method that has been successful in taking down a dragon is to use a scorpion or another dragon. Or to kill it in its sleep."

"He used the Sorcerer's fire-sword, his 'lightsaber' as he calls it," Obara explained. "He jumped up onto the top of the dragon's head while the beast was distracted, and the sorcerer threw the weapon to him. The moment Snow had it in his possession, he brought the blade to life, plunged it into the dragon's skull, and killed the beast in two blows."

It was quite the story, one worthy of any bard's tongue. The killing of a dragon was no small feat, and unlike the uncertainty that showed on Tyene's and Nymeria's faces, Arianne knew her cousin's words to be true. Obara wasn't one to shovel horse shit. If she said something happened, it happened. "And what of Jon Snow himself?" Arianne asked offhandedly. "Is he as Nymeria says? A boy whose balls haven't even dropped?"

Sharing a glance between Tyene and Nymeria, she could see just the slightest of an upturning of Obara's lips, while on the floor Elia watched on in ignorance of the full meaning behind Arianne's question.

Three years ago, Arianne had stumbled across an unfinished letter in her father's solar that was destined for her brother, Quentyn, who was fostering at Yronwood to try and improve the relationship between their Houses. In the letter, her father had stated that Quentyn would one day sit in his seat and rule Dorne. Which was a clear violation of Dornish laws of inheritance. She was the eldest! Dorne was hers by right of birth! Not her brothers. Yet still, her father was going to pass her over in favor of her frogged-face brother. At first, she hadn't wanted to believe it. But as she thought on it, the more it made sense. Her father had rejected many of her potential suitors that would serve her well as a Consort. After nearly two moons' off thinking of the letter, she finally confronted her father. The conversation that followed was perhaps the worst of her young life. Her father had not denied the accusation. In fact, he stated that it was his plan to have her brother inherit Dorne! To steal her birthright! And when she pressed on what would happen to her, he simply brushed off her concerns and said that he would find a good place for her.

For nearly a year after that conversation she waged a – in hindsight, anyway – childish rebellion against her father. She stopped listening to him. Stopped taking commands from him. And in the end, she even went so far as to have a brief tryst with her Uncle's squire Daemon Sand. But even then, her father didn't seem to care. After her tryst, she realized just how childish she was being, and decided that if her father wasn't going to give her Dorne, as was her right, she would have to take it from him. She wouldn't kill him; she still loved her father far too much to even consider such an action. But she would make it so that he was left with no choice to name her as his official heir.

To that end, she started paying far more attention in her lessons, learning everything she could of not only Dorne and its politics, but of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms was well. Everything she put her mind to, she excelled at. She even managed to successfully create a new trade agreement between Dorne and Braavos. It wasn't for much, merely a decrease in taxation from Braavos on imports, but still, it was something. And yet, no matter what she did, her father never even so much as gave her an acknowledgement of her deeds.

Just before she reached her six-and-ten name day, it became apparent that her father would never name her his heir. And unfortunately, she simply didn't have the political pull within Dorne to force her father's hand. But she still had one weapon at her disposal. And it could be a powerful one at that. Her hand in marriage. But she needed to be extremely careful with her pick. She needed someone strong. Someone powerful. Someone who no one would even think once about crossing. And as she came to this realization, there was only one person who met that criteria. The Northern Sorcerer and the Butcher of Amory Lorch; Lord Alim Nox.

But while the idea of bedding the powerful man was indeed a fantasy that filled many of her fantasies late at night, she slowly came to realize that he was not necessarily the _best_ option. To be sure, he was powerful, and no one would dare cross him, especially after what he had done for Dorne by helping to give some justice to her Aunt Elia Martell. But that was exactly the problem. He was _too_ powerful. She knew that if she were to marry him, eventually she would become little more than a puppet while he ruled Dorne behind the scenes. And that was not something she was willing to have happen. And there were also the rumors of the man having a woman back in the North. So, as unfortunate as it was, she was forced to conclude that the sorcerer would simply not fit in her long-term plans, at least not as her husband.

That was why it seemed to have been a gift from the gods that, after little more than a moon's turn after acceding that Nox was not a fully suitable option for her, rumors started floating through Dorne regarding Nox and, more importantly, why he was so fixated on staying in the North. The Stark children all had the same type of power as Nox and the sorcerer was training them all. Including Lord Stark's bastard son. And it was the bastard son who drew Arianne's attention. Politically, marrying a trueborn son would be preferable. But in this case, it wasn't feasible. Marrying Lord Stark's heir meant that she would become the next Lady of Winterfell, which was _not_ what she wanted. And the other son was far too young for her needs. That was why she started trying to dig up every scrap of information about the bastard son of Lord Stark as she could. Strangely enough though, this proved far more difficult than she would've liked.

She'd been able to learn that Jon Snow was in fact Lord Nox's favored student. He had also been raised alongside his trueborn brothers and sisters, something that seemed far more Dornish than Northern. But when she tried to find out just who his mother was that was when she hit the proverbial wall. No one was able to answer that question. Even Lord Stark had never seemed to state who Jon's mother was. It was a complete mystery. Naturally, it was one that people started taking a great interest in the moment word started to spread that the Stark children and Jon Snow had the same abilities as the sorcerer.

The most common story she'd heard was that he was the son of Lord Stark and Lady Ashara Dayne. A tale that held some merit. It was well known that the late Lady Dayne and Lord Stark were at the very least interested in one another at the Tourney of Harrenhal. And if that interest had progressed to a physical affection, then the timing would work out that after finding his deceased sister at the Tower of Joy, Lord Stark took his bastard son from Lady Dayne's arms on his way back north. It could also explain why Lord Stark was so hesitant to speak of the boy's mother. After all, it was known that Lady Dayne killed herself after he left, so perhaps the pain of losing her brother, her lover, and her son in one fell swoop was simply too much to bear.

In fact, the story held such merit that her father had recently even reached out to House Dayne to ask to either confirm or deny the story. And they were still waiting to hear back from them on the matter. If he truly was a son of Dorne, then he could be even more useful to her than she'd originally thought.

After nearly a year of collecting every scrap of information she could on Jon Snow, and the Starks in general, she made her decision. Jon Snow was the perfect Consort for her. From what she heard, he was well liked, even loved by his trueborn siblings, giving him close ties to the future Warden of the North. He was also being trained personally by the Northern Sorcerer to wield the same power as he did. And being a bastard meant he stood no chance of inheriting anything from his father without pissing off his Lords. The best he could hope for would be to become a Master of Arms or perhaps live out his life at the Wall or with the Maesters. None of which seemed appealing prospects for one who held so much promise. But most importantly he was still young. Malleable. Someone she could mold into what she wanted. Though, she did hope that he was strong enough to resist somewhat. The chase and seduction wouldn't be as fun nor enjoyable in the end if he simply went along with her every whim. And she wanted someone who was strong enough to rule alongside her. Not a simpleton who would bow to her every wish or a fool who would think that just because he had the cock that he was in charge.

"To call him a boy would be a disservice," Obara said, bringing Arianne back to the conversation at hand. "While he is young, he has this…aura about him that makes him seem far older. After he killed the dragon, it was like he was a different person. He gave orders and even I was willing to go along with what he said. And despite his boyish looks, he…well, he will grow up to be a…handsome…man."

"Why, sister!" Nymeria grinned, eagerly leaning towards her sister. "I do believe I see a blush forming on your face! Do you fancy the boy? I didn't know you liked them that young."

"He doesn't look his age," Obara muttered quietly, but not quite quietly enough to keep to herself. "If you don't believe me, you can see for yourself. Father left him with his squire in the yard while he and the sorcerer went to talk with Uncle Doran."

"Then that is exactly what we'll be doing," Arianne announced with a note of finality, marching towards the door to her chambers and leaving her cousins scrambling to follow.

Just as she was about to pass through her door, she stopped and took a moment to looked herself over in the mirror that'd been gifted to her by her uncle after one of his many trips across the Narrow Sea. At seven-and-ten, she had changed greatly from the little pudgy flat-chested girl she had been. Her olive skin was near flawless, her chest grown to be a thing all admired and her hair had grown into long curls that hung loosely down her back and over her shoulders. In short, she had grown into a beautiful woman. A woman that was desired by men, and even women, from near and far. '_He's barely three-and-ten name days,_' she thought as she took a moment to adjust her dress to accent her curves just the slightest bit more. '_Men twice his age can barely control themselves around me…Let us hope that he is made of stronger stuff_.'

Pleased with her appearance, the Princess of Dorne marched out of her chambers with her cousins close behind as she sought out her prey. It didn't take them long to arrive at the training yard, nor did it take long to find her intended target. For standing in the middle of the yard were two young men, both shirtless, and each with a training sword in hand as they worked through a series of movements together side by side. The slightly taller young man was easy for her to identify. After all, she had a rather, if only singular, carnal encounter with him. And while there was no true spark or passion between herself and Daemon Sand, she could at least admit that he struck an impressive sight. His strong jaw, sky blue eyes, sandy brown hair with a close trimmed beard and his well-toned body earned from hours upon hours of training were certainly a sight that could make many a maiden – make _any_ woman – wet themselves with desire.

But while Daemon was impressive, the young man beside him was just was equally impressive. Her cousin was correct. Snow certainly didn't look like a boy of two-and-ten almost three-and-ten. Rather, he looked more like a young man of at least five-and-ten. He was slightly shorter than Daemon, but not by much, merely a hands width if she had to guess. And even with the distance that separated the them, she could tell that in a few years he would indeed be a handsome man. With his long face, his dark hair and dark-grey eyes. And, just like Daemon, his body was nothing to be ashamed of. Lean and well-toned, if slightly paler than she was used to. Daemon was a sight to behold, but this Jon Snow, if given a few years, he would be the thing of fantasies for any maiden, young and old, across the Seven Kingdoms.

'_A slight stubble on the cheeks, kept closely trimmed to less than a finger widths_,' Arianne mused as she tried to picture what sort of man he would grow into in a few years while watching the two treat her to an unexpected, but quite welcome, show. '_Let his hair grow and pull it back…Perhaps bound in a tail behind his head…Yes…I can definitely work with this_.'

Letting her hand rest lightly on the railing, Arianne slowly walked her way around the upper level surrounding the training yard, keeping herself out of the eyesight of the two strapping men below. As she made her way around the backside of the two of them, she started to realize something. While she was not an expert in martial combat, she did enjoy watching a good fight or watching men and women train. At first, she'd thought that Daemon was teaching Snow a few tricks, but as she watched more closely, she realized it was the exact opposite. Snow was teaching Daemon a few things.

Coming around almost full circle of the yard, Arianne descended the steps leading to the ground level of the yard, emerging just as the two men in the yard appeared to reach a stopping point as Daemon led Snow over to a shaded area of the yard so the two could drink greedily from a flask of water.

Raising her hands, she began to lightly clap, the sound of her hands echoing throughout the empty yard and announcing her presence to the two. Daemon didn't seem surprised to see her as he merely turned to her and bowed his head respectfully. Snow, however, his reaction was everything Arianne could've hoped for. His eyes grew twice their size at seeing her before tracking up and down her body while his face turned a steadier shade of red.

"Well done, you two," she congratulated the two as she approached. "That was quite the display."

"I am glad you approve, Princess Arianne," Daemon said, using her name as a way of subtly announcing her presence to Snow.

The bastard's reaction to her station was even more comical. His eyes, which were already wide, grew even wider as his blush increased and he started trying to look everywhere except where he, and even she, wanted to look. Even more amusingly, he seemed to be suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was standing before her without a shirt on. "I have known my uncle's squire for some time now. But I have never truly seen him take lessons from anyone other than my uncle, let alone from one so young. What is your name?"

"Jon Snow, my Lady…Princess…umm—"

Arianne couldn't help but smile slightly at his stumbling. It was rather cute, in a boyish way that stood in stark contradiction to his physical appearance. "Jon Snow, the son of the Warden and Lord Paramount of the North, Eddard Stark. And the apprentice of Lord Nox, the Northern Sorcerer. I have heard stories about you."

Snow appeared shocked that she knew of him, until his eyes flickered behind her where she knew Obara was standing, and a look of understanding crossed his face. "I hope what you've heard have been good things, Princess."

"Arianne," she corrected, drawing a quick look from the boy. "In a private setting like this, I prefer if my name, not my title, would be used."

Snow took a step back. "I – I couldn't do that, Princess. It would not be proper for—"

"Not proper?" Arianne asked, taking a step forward to counter his step back, putting her almost within arm's length of him. "I am the Princess of Dorne, am I not? And we are currently in Dorne. So, what I say is proper is what is proper. Let us try again, shall we? I wish for you to call me Arianne, not Princess. Now, try it."

Snow looked more than a little unsure, but soon enough he relented. "As you wish, Prin – Arianne."

Letting loose her full smile, Arianne took another step forward, placing her well within arm's reach of the young man. "That's better," she muttered, looking him up and down. "I see that your training has done wonders for one your age. I may not be an expert with a sword, but I can tell just by watching you that in time you will, undoubtably, be one of the best in the lands. Perhaps even on par with the Sword of the Morning."

She'd hoped that by mentioning the legendary position given only to those of House Dayne that she would be able to gain some sort of insight on whether the boy knew of his lineage or not. Unfortunately, the boy showed little recognition of his potential mother's family outside of the name and position. '_Shame. Either he doesn't know, or he is a far better at hiding his true thoughts than any young man his age has the right to do so_.'

"I could only hope to eventually be considered on the same level as the legendary Sword of the Morning or Lord Nox, Princ – Arianne."

'_Humble too. Such a rare trait to find these days, considering almost all men like to strut about like a stallion out to stud. Yes, this young man has the qualities that I'm looking for. He'll need some refinement but he's still young. He will grow_.' Gracing him with a dazzling smile, she looked back and forth between Sand and Snow. Daemon was giving her a more than slightly amused look as she did so. He knew exactly where her thoughts were, they'd discussed it a length before and he'd been one of the first to agree to help her take her place as ruler of Dorne, even if he knew that she would never be his. '_Well, maybe not never…This is Dorne after all_.'

"The display between yourself and Daemon here was quite impressive, Jon Snow." Arianne stated, slowly circling the young man. "Tell me, Daemon, if you two of you were to spar, who would emerge the victor?"

Daemon didn't hesitate. "If we were to spar with swords alone, Snow here would win without question. But if we were to spar while I wielded by spear, then I believe I would have the edge over him."

His words brought her up short slightly. Daemon, much like her uncle, was not one to exaggerate their skills. They were both good and they knew it. For Daemon to say that Jon could potentially beat him, he wasn't just trying to build up Snow's confidence. He was serious. "And what of you, Jon?" she asked, turning the young man. "Do you think you can take on Daemon while he wields his spear instead of the sword?"

To his credit, Snow didn't answer right away, preferring instead to turn and study Daemon. "I believe I could, Pr – Arianne."

'_Confident. Good_.' "Then, let us put that to the test then," Arianne said with a clap of her hands. "You two shall spar. Daemon with his spear, and Jon with his sword. First to ten victories will take the match. And to give you both a little incentive, I shall put a wager of my favor to the winner on your little contest."

Jon looked confused at her statement, but Daemon merely gave her a sidelong look. Regardless of the looks, both accepted and Jon moved off to the weapon rack to replace his wooden training blade for a training blade. "Daemon," Arianne whispered quietly, ushering her uncles squire to her. "Test him, but don't hurt him."

To her surprise, Daemon merely laughed. "Arianne, I fear your concerns may be misplaced. If anything, you should be concerned that _he_ will be the one hurting _me_."

Raising her brow at the statement Arianne stepped back towards a shaded section of the training yard and took a seat amongst the cushions on the ground. As she and her cousins got settled, she watched with rapt attention as Snow and Sand choose their respected training weapons before meeting back in the center of the yard. Daemon held his spear in both hands, the shaft crossing his body on an angle while the tip pointed slightly towards the ground. Jon meanwhile took a stance that she had never seen before. He stood with his sword level with his arm and pointed on an angle towards the ground while he turned his body slightly so that his side was facing Daemon.

"Begin!" Arianne shouted, signaling the start of the match.

Daemon struck first, letting go of the spear with his left hand while he thrusted with the right to extend the reach, trying to draw first blood. But before the spear could ever even get close, Jon parried the attack away before quickly countering by stepping in close to Daemon and placing the tip of his sword directly over Daemon's heart. The entire exchange lasted less than a few second, but there was no doubt that Jon had taken the first point in just two moves.

"Didn't realize he was a water dancer," Nymeria commented as she leaned forward, suddenly very interested in the fight going on before them as Daemon and Jon reset themselves.

"He isn't," Obara countered. "I have watched Jon and the sorcerer spar for hours on the ship. From what I've learned, Jon prefers two forms of fighting. This one he and the sorcerer call…'makashi' I believe it was. It focuses on quickness, precision attacks, and counters. His other style is called…'juyo'. I – I fought him once when he used that style and…that was one of the few times I truly feared for my life. Even though we were only sparring."

Now Arianne was even more impressed than she already was as she watched Jon and Daemon trade blows with one another. This time Daemon, after losing the first point so quickly, had adapted a more cautious approach as he tried to figure out Jon's fighting style. '_Jon Snow_,' she thought, licking her lips. '_You are just becoming more and more of catch with each new thing I learn about you_.'

* * *

Holding his wine glass in one hand while swirling the dark red wine around, Nox carefully examined the board resting between himself and Prince Doran. The various pieces on both sides of the board were scattered throughout as both players carefully moved their pieces across the board as they tried to kill the king on the opposing side. Seeing a path to victory, Nox leaned forward and moved his heavy horse piece across the set number of tiles, placing it near Doran's dragon piece, which was nestled up against a mountain terrain to block the path to his king piece.

His move made, Prince Doran went to immediately counter his move, only to pause as he truly looked at the board. "Impressive trap," the Prince muttered, retracting his hand from his dragon piece. "I almost fell into it headlong. I didn't take you for an expert cyvasse player, sorcerer."

"Never played a game till our brief stay in Volantis," Nox admitted. "But my homeland has a similar game. And strategy is strategy. No matter whether you're partaking in war, politics or a simple game like this."

"Some would argue differently," Doran stated, moving his catapult around the mountain terrain to flank Nox's heavy horse piece. "While they all require a level of strategy, the nuances of each are vastly different."

"Perhaps, but they all boil down to the same basic principle," Nox admitted, taking his dragon piece and using it to remove Doran's elephant from the game. "In order to win, you must get your opponents to think they know what you are doing, and then do something they do not expect to take their victory out from under their feet."

Looking down at the board, Doran went to take his move but then stopped. Even without sight, Nox knew the game was over. His dragon was poised to take Doran's king piece, which meant that he would have to move his trebuchet in order to prevent the dragon from moving into a killing position. But if he made such a move, then his light horse would be able to move to the spot that would be vacated, and the game would be over anyway.

"Well played," Doran nodded, tipping over his king piece in admittance of defeat. "Well played indeed, sorcerer."

"It is but a game, Prince Doran," Nox shrugged. "In the grand scheme of things, you are perhaps one of the best players in all of Westeros; on level with Tywin, Olenna, and Jon Arryn, if my analysis is correct."

"Flattery," Doran chuckled. "I'm but a crippled man stuck to this wretched chair."

"Your body may not be in it's prime, but your mind is far above almost all others," Nox countered. "Your play with your brother in Essos speaks volumes to your abilities to play the game."

"Oh?" Doran asked, leaning back. "And what was my play with my brother?"

"To find out if there is anything that you can use to sway me to your side when you make your move against the Baratheons and the Lannisters. As well as to set up a few other parts of your long-term plans." Nox replied casually.

Doran didn't appear fazed, not that Nox expected him to be. The man was a master politician after all. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're talking about sorcerer. Yes, I did send my brother to Essos to try and learn if you were in fact from that region, but House Martell and Dorne are loyal subjects to the crown."

"Ha, if anyone actually believes that, then I have a wonderful plot of land to sell them in the middle of the Bite." Nox chuckled. "You want vengeance, Prince Doran. Do not try and deny it. The Mountain killed Prince Aegon by smashing his head in with his bare hands. Then raped your sister to death with the boy's blood still on him while Lorch stabbed your niece over a hundred times. Then both were presented to Robert Baratheon, who not only smiled at their deaths, but released and rewarded the two men responsible for their demise. If you weren't planning on taking revenge, then I would be disappointed in you. Such an insult cannot go unpunished."

Picking up his own glass, Doran took a long drink. "Robert. The Mountain. Lorch. You missed one if revenge was truly my goal."

"Tywin, while complicit, is not guilty of the murder of your sister and your niece. Aegon yes, but not the women." Nox answered, holding up his hand to stop Doran's response as he continued. "While ruthless, you and I both know that Tywin is smart. Elia and Rhaenys were far too valuable. Ideally, he would want Elia to be married to his son Jamie after leveraging his release from the Kingsguard. And then Rhaenys would be betrothed to Robert and Cersei's heir to the throne, thereby easing the tensions amongst the loyalists with the knowledge that the dragon's blood, however diluted, would still be on the throne. The only woman he truly wished dead was Lynna Stark because if she were to be alive, even 'soiled', Robert would name her his queen and there would be nothing he could do about it."

Doran seemed fairly interested in his words now. Not surprised but interested in Nox's point of view. "Then why did he not condemn the actions taken by the Mountain and Lorch and have them executed?"

"Because, to a man like Tywin, being seen as not being in control is worse than being seen as guilty," Nox answered, to which Doran nodded. "Plus, he never outright said that he had or had not ordered the attack on Elia and Rhaenys. He more than likely gave the orders for the two to be captured. But more than likely the two put up a fight and due to the bloodlust from battle, the Mountain and Lorch lost control and killed them. That left Tywin with one of two options. One; admit that his bannermen went against his orders and appear weak. Or two; say nothing and let people come to their own conclusions. So that is what he did. He counted on Robert's well-known hatred of the Targaryens to blindside the people so that no one would ever suspect that his own men went against his orders."

Setting his glass aside, Doran folded his hands in his lap. "Your thoughts mirror my own. Tywin is a prickly sort. One who would rather be found guilty than not in control. And it is not wrong to say that I hate the Lannisters and the Baratheons for what was done to my family. But I am not engaged in treason against the crown."

Nox smiled at the word play. He had missed this verbal sparring. The North, for all its charm, did not care for politics or verbal sparring on this level. It reminded him greatly of his time on the Dark Council. "An interesting turn of phrase to say that you are not 'engaged in treason'." Setting down his glass, Nox decided it was time to pull out his trump card, so to speak. "My apprentice ran into two interesting individuals before we met with your brother in Volantis. A young girl and a young man, both with silver-gold hair and violet eyes. And the young man seemed most…aggravated. As if he was expecting something to happen but was denied what he thought was his due. No doubt he was hoping for an alliance through betrothal of sorts…But the father of the potential bride must've made the proposal provisional, based on certain elements regarding what could happen in the future."

Doran's friendly demeanor, as well as the atmosphere, disappeared completely as Nox dropped his proverbial bomb on the Prince of Dorne. "Before you make any rash decisions, Prince Doran," Nox said, holding up his hand. "Know that I have no loyalty to the Iron Throne. And what I heard can be considered merely hearsay or conjecture. Therefore, I have no intention nor desire to spread it beyond just the two of us. Unless someone was to act…rashly, of course. Then I would be forced to do what I must to protect myself and those I care about."

Doran relaxed slightly, but not much. The man was still on edge, and rightfully so given what Nox had laid out before him. "And what would it take to ensure such hearsay did not spread? I wouldn't want such unsubstantiated rumors about Dorne spreading through the rest of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Nothing," Nox replied, waving the concern away. "Nothing is happening to myself or those I call my own, so no word need be spread."

The underling meaning to his words were clear to Doran. Nox had him, and Dorne by extension, by the balls. If Doran left him alone, then the fact that Oberyn met with the exiled Targaryens would stay with him. But should Doran try anything, then word would be spread. And given the King's general mentality towards anything related to the Targaryens, well, Dorne's peace probably wouldn't last long.

"And if things were to change?" Doran questioned. "If, for some reason, those in exile brought war to come home, where would you stand?"

"Depends," Nox shrugged. "My allegiance is not one that can be bought. But if I'm left alone, then that is that. But do keep in mind: while I do not owe direct allegiance to the Starks, I do consider Ned Stark to be a friend. And a friendship to me is indeed a rare thing. It is something which I have only acknowledged to less than ten individuals in my entire life. Thus, I would be most aggrieved if something were to happen to him or his family."

Doran didn't seem to like that answer, but it appeared as if he was resigned to it. "Then the future will indeed be interesting should the unfortunate develop."

"Indeed, it shall," Nox nodded, rising to his feet. "But I feel that is enough politicking for the day. I sense something amiss in the training yard that I fear will need to be addressed soon. And while we are making our way there, perhaps you can indulge a question of mine. Just what is the purpose of the Kingsguard?"

* * *

Ever since she was a little girl, Arianne had always been fascinated with displays of skill, particularly on the field of battle. In fact, her first infatuation was with her Uncle Oberyn and had come to be after watching him spar and utterly humiliate no less than a dozen men in the yard on his own. Later, her attention had turned to his squire Daemon Sand who was quickly becoming one of the better spears in Dorne. But while she'd always enjoyed watching a good spar, she had never experienced a reaction quite like the one she was having now watching as Jon Snow thoroughly trounced one of the best spears in Dorne.

Her entire being felt like it was on fire, and not because of the heat of the sun bearing down on her. After Snow had managed to take two points on Daemon, a familiar warmth had started to pool within her. By the time Snow had taken a five to one-point lead, the warmth had grown into a raging inferno and had started to coalesce between her legs. And now that the boy, no, the young man had taken a nine to three lead and was on the match point, she was having trouble sitting still. The fire within her was all but demanding that she take the object that had stoked such passion within her. Even if he was still a slight bit younger than what could be considered proper for such activities.

And she wasn't the only one who was drawn to the display. Beside her, her cousins were all staring at the two men with undivided attentions. While she wasn't sure just how word of what was happening had spread throughout the palace, but to be sure it had. For all around the training yard, both the ground and upper levels were packed with visiting nobles and servants alike, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of the man that was being trained by the Northern Sorcerer and was a potential son of Dorne, if the rumors of his mother were true.

Biting her lip, Arianne watched with rapt attention as the two squared off against one another. Daemon was panting more than slightly. His spear was held at a slightly lower angle than when they started as the toll of the training the two had gone through and now the fight began taking its toll on his body. Jon though did not seem to have the same difficulties. To be sure, his breath was labored, and his body was covered in sweat, but his stance was still just as strong as it'd been when the two had started their duel.

Letting out a loud yell, Daemon lunged forward, his spear aiming for the center of Jon's chest. Jon moved almost impossibly fast as he sidestepped the lunge and batted the spear tip away. Daemon, having seen the same move before, quickly countered by trying to strike with the butt of his spear. Jon though had apparently seen the move coming and quickly moved to block it before kicking Daemon in his unprotected chest, doubling him over and ending the spar as Jon brought his training blade down, stopping just a hair's width from making contact with Daemon's head.

All around the yard, people started clapping, congratulating the two on their performance. For her part, Arianne couldn't keep the smile off her face as she watched Jon hold out his hand to help Daemon. '_Oh yes…he is perfect. And give him a few more years…he will be beyond perfect. I need to talk with Obara, and soon. I need to know if I can expect any competition for his eye or not_.'

As the clapping slowly died down, there was one set of claps that did not. Even after everyone had stopped, the one set continued to clap slowly, almost mockingly, as the owner stepped out from the crowd and into the yard. "Well, well, well. The squire of Prince Oberyn, bested by a foreign boy. How low the Red Viper's standards must have become."

Arianne wanted to curse as she quickly rose to her feet, recognizing the man making his way towards Jon and Daemon. '_Damn it,_' she cursed, holding her head high. '_Father did not tell me that Ser Gerold 'Darkstar' Dayne, of all people, would be in the palace today!_'

The Knight of High Hermitage was from a cadet branch of the House Dayne and he was cousins to the infamous Ser Arthur Dayne, the last Sword of the Morning, and Lady Ashara Dayne. But while Ser Gerold may have inherited House Dayne's striking features with his purple eyes and gold almost silver hair, he had not inherited their temperament. Ser Arthur was a man of honor and Lady Ashara a woman of grace and generosity. Darkstar was neither. He was a cruel bastard at heart at most generous of times. '_And to think, there was a time I entertained the notion of tying myself to him to affirm my hold on Dorne. Thank the gods I learned of his true self before I did something incredibly foolish_.'

"Ser Dayne," Arianne said out loud, drawing attention to herself and hopefully away from Jon. "This is an unexpected pleasure to have you within Sunspear once more."

Gerold's smiled brightly as she approached, a look that might've once thrilled her, but now filled her with nothing more than dread. "Princess Arianne," Gerold smiled, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "Your beauty continues to grow and shine brighter and brighter than the sun with each passing day."

"Flatterer," she smiled, but felt disgusted with herself for even having to act halfway interested in the man. "But I must confess curiosity as to the reason for your visit."

Gerold's smile slipped only slightly before reaffirming itself. "Why, because of this young man here, of course," Gerold smiled unkindly while beckoning at Jon. "I came to speak with your father on the matter and imagine my surprise to find the supposed ill-gotten bastard of my whore of a cousin here in Sunspear. And not only is he here, but apparently also humiliating the squire of the Red Viper himself and under the watchful eye of the Princess of Dorne. My, my, how far House Martell has fallen. Has House Martell already forgotten that it was the barbarians of House Stark that were instrumental in during the war against the Targaryens? The same war that saw to the death of our beloved Princess Elia and her children? Yet here you now stand with the son of the very _dis_honorable man who not only apparently fucked, impregnated and then abandoned my cousin, Ashara. But also murdered my cousin Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning. Your ancestors would be turning over in their graves if they were to see this insult to their memories."

Arianne wanted to slap the man. But before she could utter any defense, Jon beat her too it. "My father is not dishonorable," Jon stated clearly and loudly. "And I do not know if Lady Ashara Dayne is my mother not. My father has never spoken of her. My father fought Ser Arthur Dayne on equal footing. But, regardless, you should not speak of your kin so unkindly, Ser Dayne. In the North, we have a saying. 'When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives'. In the North, family is everything, Ser."

Arianne just barely managed to hide her grimace. While Jon's words had some weight and good meaning behind them, she really wished he wouldn't have said anything in the first place as he didn't truly understand just how to deal with a man like Ser Gerold.

"Is that so, bastard?" Ser Gerold asked, his eyes narrowing. "Then, tell me, where was your fathers' sense of honor and family when he married that whore fish after fucking my cousin and putting you in her womb? Most honorable man in the land? Ha! Stark wouldn't know honor if it came up and bit him in the ass. And the day I believe a northern barbarian can defeat a son of House Dayne in a fair fight is the day I kiss my own ass."

This wasn't good. She could see exactly what Gerold was doing. He was winding Jon up, provoking him into doing something rash. Something that would give Gerold reason to bring harm to him. And that was not something that she could allow. Thankfully, Jon seemed to be able to handle his emotions well enough as he, mercifully, didn't rise to the bait Gerold was laying out for him. Instead, he just closed his eyes and took several long and slow breaths, his visibly tensing body starting to relax. This was something that Gerold obviously wasn't pleased with.

"Nothing to say, boy?" Gerold asked, leaning towards Jon. "Or perhaps your supposed 'victory' over the squire of the Red Viper has given you a false sense of skill? How about a real challenge then? A spar between the two of us. And I'll even give you an incentive. Should you managed to land a single point on my person, I will apologize for words I spoke against my whore cousin, your _possible_ mother, and that _dishonorable_ barbarian limp dick man you call your father."

"I accept," Jon said immediately, his voice solemn and drawing a wince from Arianne.

"Splendid!" Gerold's smile was positively vicious.

"I cannot allow this, Ser Gerold," Arianne said, trying to get between the two of them. "Jon has been training and sparring all morning. He is exhausted while you are fresh. A match betwe—"

"Making excuses for the boy's defeat already, Princess Arianne?" Garold sneered. "I didn't realize your tastes ran so young or along the lines of barbarians."

"I am fine, Princess Arianne," Jon said, stepping forward. "Even after my spar with Ser Daemon, I am still more than capable of handling Ser Dayne in a spar."

Chuckling, Gerold began loosening the ties of his clothes to free up his movements. "You have a quick mouth, bastard. Let us hope your sword is just quick, or I won't enjoy it as much in shutting it permanently."

As Gerold made his way to collect a training sword, Arianne rounded on Jon. "What are you doing?" she hissed in a hushed tone. "You've done exactly what he wanted. You had my father's protection and mine. But now that you are in a spar, he can harm and even maim you without repercussions!"

Jon turned to her, and when he did Arianne felt the breath catch in her lungs. His once dark gray eyes were slowly turning a dark yellow before her very eyes. "The same applies to him. And while I don't care about what he may say about me, I will not stand for someone insulting my father, their own family, or…you, princess. Don't worry. I can handle the likes of him easy."

Moving aside, Arianne watched helplessly as Jon marched to the center of the yard where Ser Gerold stood waiting. A not-so-small part of her wanted to stop this farce immediately. Gerold was twice Jon's size and age, had been fighting for years, and had garnered quite the reputation for his swordsmanship and his ruthlessness. But it'd been Jon's confidence and the…well, aura for lack of a better term that was coming from him. When he told her that he could handle Ser Garold, she believed him. '_Don't make me wrong on my assumption, Snow_,' she thought, returning to her place next to her cousins.

Nymeria, Tyene, and Elia all had the same worried look on their faces. But Obara was…calm, as if she didn't have a care in the world. "There is no need to worry." Her eldest cousin said softly the moment she returned to them. "Snow will win."

Arianne was about to ask how her cousin could be so sure, but then she noticed it. Jon had changed his stance from what it had been when he'd been sparring against Daemon. In fact, his entire demeanor seemed to have changed. The calm look he wore while sparring against Daemon was gone, and in its place was a look that she could only describe as pure, unadulterated, seething rage. Even Ser Gerold seemed taken aback, though he tried to hide it as he pointed his wooded training blade towards Jon. "Nice trick with the eyes, bastard. But yellow eyes don't make you a w—"

Jon seemed to move in a blur as he rushed at Gerold, his sword arching downward towards the taller man's shoulder and chest. Gerold just barely managed to get his own blade up in time to block the strike. While he was able to block it, the sheer force behind Jon's attack defied all logic as Gerold's wooden training sword was pushed back into his chest and the large man was forced to take several steps back as he tried to regain his balance. But Jon didn't allow that as he rained down a relentless barrage of attacks on Gerold, each one forcing the older man to backstep further and further away as he struggled to absorb the powerful attacks.

With his back pressed against the edge of the sparring yard, Gerold finally managed to get his footing under him and began trying to launch a counterattack. With his base set, Garold was able to start holding his own against Jon and even started pushing the younger man back away from the edge. As Jon started backing away, Arianne's concern grew as she started to notice something about Jon's form. He continuously left his front leg forward, a clear weak point that she hoped Gerold wouldn't notice. But, to her distress, Gerold did notice and as Jon made to step back, Gerold slashed down towards Jon's exposed front leg.

But just as the training blade was about to make contact, Jon shifted his feet quickly, letting Gerold's attack pass harmlessly by and leaving the older man exposed. Which Jon took immediate advantage of as he delivered a quick and devastating down cut onto Gerold's chest with enough force to make the older man stagger back and drop to a knee. A killing blow.

Gerold immediately threw out a blind backhanded strike, which Jon easily swatted away, as he tried to give himself time to scramble back up to his feet. Time which Jon seemed to allow as the younger man started pacing back and forth with his training sword held loosely by his side. '_No, not pacing,_' Arianne quickly corrected herself. '_Stalking. Like a predator stalking its prey in the wild_.'

The look on Ser Dayne's face was one of absolute fury as he readied himself once more. Letting out a cry, Garold brought his sword into a high guard with the intent of bringing his sword down on Jon's head. But Jon merely raised his sword to block, arresting Gerold's strike before it could gain too much momentum. Then Jon did something she wasn't expecting, and certainly something she hadn't seen him do against Daemon. He kicked out with his front foot, catching Gerold in the side of his knee and dropping him. As he was still falling, Jon's sword came down and caught Garold on the back of his shoulder. But, unlike his spar with Daemon, Jon didn't stop his swing before he made contact. No, he brought his sword with far more strength than a young man his age should've been able to possess and dropped a man twice his age, size, and experience face first into the ground.

'_Two killing blows,_' Arianne thought with a growing smile, watching as Jon backed off and began to stalk his prey once again while Ser Dayne half crawled half rolled towards the edge of the yard. '_If I thought he was impressive before, then this is – oh shit!_'

The sound of metal scrapping against leather echoed throughout the near-silent courtyard as Gerold grabbed hold of his sword, which he'd left at the edge of the yard, and quickly pulled it out from its sheath. This was no longer a spar. Live-steel had been drawn, and from the look in Gerold's eyes, he was thirsty for blood and wouldn't stop till he had his fill. Jumping to her feet, Arianne felt a cry leave her throat as she called for the guards to intervene, but her voice was muffled in the screams of those watching as Gerold ran at Jon with live steel.

But Jon didn't even bat an eye. Sidestepping Garold's thrust, the Northerner swung his training blade around in a tight circle before bringing it down on Gerold's exposed right hand. The sound of bones breaking and Gerold's pained screamed broke through the noise of the spectators as his sword fell from his now injured hand. But Jon wasn't done. Instead of hitting Gerold again, an easy target as the man was currently defenseless, Jon thrusted his right hand towards Gerold, his palm open and facing his downed opponent. Then he slowly began to clench his hand into a slight fist.

Whatever doubts remained in Arianne's mind about the validity of Jon having sorcerer-like powers were dispelled as Gerold's cries abruptly cut off. Ser Dayne's eyes bulged as his hands started pawing at his neck. And then, without being able to comprehend just what was happening, Arianne could do little more than watched in befuddled amazement as Gerold as lifted into the air until the tips of his toes were dangling just above the surface of the ground.

"You call my father a man without honor?" she could barely even recognize Jon's voice, but it carried through the yard as if he were standing right next to her, and the very sound of it sent a chill through her body. A chill, and a renewed warmth that would not go away. "You insult the memory of your cousin! Both of them! And you insult a Princess in her own palace. You, Ser…No, you do not have the right to that title. _You_, Gerold Dayne, are the one without honor!"

"Enough!"

The single command resounded throughout the courtyard with such force that many of those who were present immediately dropped to a knee. Even Arianne felt the need to stop whatever she'd been doing and lower her head in submission, a feeling she was highly unaccustomed too. It took almost all of her willpower to keep herself still as she looked around for whoever had issued the command as an unnatural chill shot through her body, making her feel almost as if the Stranger itself was standing over her.

It didn't take her long to find the man. And the moment she laid her eyes on him, she knew exactly who he was without needing to be introduced. The man was tall and handsome with a close-trimmed ashen beard, pulled back silver hair, and a black cloth covering his eyes. His black robes billowing behind him as he marched into the yard despite the absence of any wind. This…This was Lord Alim Nox, the Northern Sorcerer. The Breaker of the Pyke. The Storm God's Avatar. The Stranger Incarnate. The Will of the Old Gods of the First Men. And just behind him was her father, being pushed in his rolling chair by her Uncle Oberyn with Areo Hotah right behind with his axe draw. All three of whom were looking positively murderous, but not at Jon, rather at Dayne who was still on the ground from where he'd collapsed.

In the center of the yard, almost forgotten due to the legend's arrival, Gerold Dayne hit the ground hard as Jon released whatever hold he had on him, leaving the knight to clutch at his throat as he coughed violently, trying desperately to get some air back into his lungs.

Backing away, Jon made to speak, but the sorcerer merely held up a single finger, silencing the young man before he could say even a single word. She was prepared to step forward and defend the young man, but that proved to not be necessary as the sorcerer bypassed Jon and made his way over to where Gerold was still trying to recover on the ground. As he stood above the downed man, Arianne felt a chill go through her just from standing in the man's presence. She couldn't imagine what Gerold must've felt like to have been at the center of the sorcerer's apparently sightless focus.

"You insult a man I consider a friend," the sorcerer's voice was calm and steady, but she could hear the underlying tone of anger clear as day. "You insult your own family. You insult my apprentice. You draw live steel during a spar because you were losing against a boy less than half your age. Your jealousy has turned to anger. Your anger has turned to hatred. And now, you've allowed your hatred to blind you. Letting it control you."

A scraping noise drew Arianne's attention towards the sorcerer's feet. Gerold's sword was…sliding across the ground without anyone having a hold of it. After just a moment, it stopped just before the downed Dayne. "You hated your cousin, Ser Arthur, because he was the Sword in the Morning. You hated Lady Ashara because she was considered a beauty of the realm and would never give you the time of day. You hate the Martells because of what you perceive to be inaction and weakness. You hate Lord Stark because he defeated Ser Arthur and had the affection of Lady Ashara. You hate me because I work with the Starks. Your hatred has consumed you to the point where it is now all you know. Even now, as you lay before me gasping for breath, your hatred is demanding that you pick up your sword and run me through. You believe killing me will make you a legend beyond anything your cousins, or the rest of your family, could ever hope to overcome.

"Which leaves you with two paths to take. The first: you leave and begin letting go of your hatred and set yourself free. Or the second: you let your hatred run its course, pick up your sword and run me through. But I best warn you; should you take the latter path, you had best make your strike count. Because you will never get a second chance. You've already lost the usage of your right hand thanks to your actions. I would hate to see you lose more."

From his spot on the ground, Gerold glared up at the sorcerer before grasping the hilt of his sword with his left hand and using the blade to help himself rise to his feet. Even from across the yard, Arianne could see the hatred in Gerold's eyes as he met the sightless visage of the Northern Sorcerer. '_He's giving the fool an out,_' she thought, as the two continued to stare one another down. Part of her, the part that recognized Gerold as her countryman wanted him to accept the offer and leave. He barely stood a chance against Jon. What chance could he stand against the man who trained him? But another part of her, the slightly more sadistic part that recognized Gerold for the liability that he was, wanted him to try his hand at the sorcerer.

Letting out a yell, Gerold made his decision as he lunged forward, the tip of his sword heading straight for the sorcerer's unprotected heart. Arianne could've understood it if the sorcerer had dodge or even blocked the thrust. Although with the distance between them and the frantic nature of the attack, she wasn't sure if the sorcerer would've been able to do either. But what she had not expected to have happen was for Nox to catch the sword point less than a hand's width from his chest and stop Gerold cold.

"Fool."

Arianne had no words to describe what happened next. The sorcerer, Gerold's blade still firmly in his right hand, raised his left hand, and then…thunder and lightning leapt forth from his fingertips and slammed into Gerold's chest. Throwing the man to the ground where he started writhing in agony as the lightning continued to crackle down upon him, screaming at the top of his lungs so loud that she was sure that even the denizens of Shadow City could hear him. The attack lasted but a moment. But when it ended, Gerold was left as a simpering wreck on the ground, curled into the fetal position as he whimpered and moaned while small wisps of smoke rose from his clothes.

"Lord Sorcerer Nox," her father's voice cut across the silence, drawing all attention to him as he was wheeled out towards Nox by Oberyn with his ever-faithful guard Areo Hotah. "I understand your anger over his actions sorcerer, and I agree with your handling of the situation as it involved one sworn to you. However, I cannot allow this to continue, as I cannot allow you to kill one of my own bannerman in my halls. Ser Dayne will be _educated_ on the penalty for trying to harm those I consider my guests, breaking the ancient laws of Gods and Men. You have my word on that."

She was half afraid that the sorcerer would press the issue, but to her relief the man simply nodded and backed off. "As you wish, Prince Doran," the sorcerer said, bowing his head slightly. "I apologize for the scene. If my apprentice and I have worn out our welcome, we will make our departure."

"Nonsense, Lord Sorcerer."

Arianne hadn't even realized she'd spoken until she'd already taken several steps towards the intimidating man. All she knew was that the sorcerer was threatening to leave, and that was something that she couldn't have happen. Not yet. She hadn't had a chance to firmly etch herself into young Jon's mind. And after seeing just what he could potentially become, that was becoming more and more of a priority for her. "Lord Dayne's temperament is well known throughout all of Dorne, and he was in need of a desperate lesson in manners," she continued, walking up beside her father and taking her place by his side. "Had it not been yourself, then I'm sure someone else would've taken him to hand soon enough. Though, I doubt their lesson would've been as…_effective_ as yours, Lord Sorcerer."

"Princess Arianne," the Sorcerer greeted her. "Your Uncle has told us many a tale of your beauty during our voyage. But I feel as if he has greatly understated just how beautiful you are. Even to one without eyes like myself, your beauty shines like the sun of Dorne on a midsummer's day."

She felt a pleasant thrill run through her at the sorcerer's words. '_I do hope that young Jon was taking notes…eh, or not. Don't need him wooing and running into the first pretty skirt he comes across once he figures out how his cock works_.' "My thanks, Lord Sorcerer. And may I say, the tales of your skill and power are as you have said: understated."

"My daughter speaks true, sorcerer," her father said, and she had the distinct impression that he was curious as to just what her play was while he motioned for this guards to pick up the still groaning Gerold and escort him out. "There is no need for you and your apprentice to leave. This incident will not be held against you or the North."

"In fact, Lord Sorcerer, it is tradition to hold a feast upon the return of a son of Dorne." She was stretching things, she knew that. It was tradition to hold a feast to celebrate a return of a member of the ruling family, but her Uncle hardly ever cared for such things. "And considering you traveled with my uncle, saw him through the horrors of Valyria, and brought him home safely, we would be remiss should we not offer you, your apprentice, and those you of the nobility you traveled with to join us for the evening."

"My dear niece speaks true, Nox," her uncle said, though whether he was following her lead or just having fun, she wasn't sure. "It would be our honor to have you as a guest tonight. As well as the others that we stood shoulder to shoulder with during our brief venture to Valyria."

Nox seemed to be pondering as he remained silent. "I was hoping to return North as soon as possible. But I suppose one night's rest will do our crew some good before we set sail once more. We accept your gracious offer Princess, Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn."

"Splendid!" Arianne smiled, glancing towards Jon. "Then we shall see you tonight. I shall have baths and clothes prepared, sorcerer, for those who follow you. And I look forward to seeing you both tonight."

Giving Jon one last smile, she turned with a slightly exaggerated swivel of her hips in Jon's direction before heading back into the palace proper. She had a lot of work to do. She had to see that word was sent to the bathhouses to be expecting the Northern Sorcerer and his party, and potentially send clothes as well for them to wear. Then there was what she was going to wear as well that needed to be taken into consideration. This would perhaps be the only night that she would have to get the attention of young Jon. And she was not about to let this opportunity slip her by.


	13. The Return Part 2

**Well, here we are again folks! Got one more chapter out before the holidays! Don't know quite how I did it to be honest. Just got into a rhythm and kept on going. That being said, with the holidays upon us I'm not entirely sure just how much writing I'm going to get in over the next two weeks at least, so probably don't be expecting the next chapter until the end of January right now. One thing that I do want to address that a few reviewers have stated, this will not be a 'harem' story. But, having said that, let's just say that it isn't unheard of for an individual to have two wives in the history of ASOIAF and leave it at that. And one other thing that I wanted to say, one of the reviewers have hit the nail on the head. I love leaving breadcrumbs in my stories (at least my longer ones, reference IATB). And right now, there are dozens of breadcrumbs littered throughout this story which can give hints to what will be happening in the future.**

**Again, huge shout out to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace. The help has been invaluable so far. And another huge thank you to everyone who has favorited, alerted or reviewed this story so far. Your support is what keeps me going! So if you feel so inclined to leave a review, please do! They really do help me get my mojo going and get the next chapters rolling on.**

**Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; so I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone! And please remember, just because a vaccine starting to be administered does not mean we are out of the water yet! Keep the course and we will beat this shit one day!**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Leaning his head back against the warm soft stone in the bath, Nox let out a content sigh as he felt the warm scented water begin to relax the muscles in his back and legs. Outside of jumping into the sea on occasion, it'd been months, hell since they left Winterfell, that he'd had a full bath. He wasn't entirely sure if it was Arianne, Oberyn or Doran who set them up with private baths in the Tower of the Sun for their visiting noble guests, but he was thankful. The baths were a gift from the Force. As were the women who took their time to massage each of them with scented oils. Though their backs, legs and necks were not the only things the woman were sent to take care of. And judging by the sounds coming from some of the private rooms and the beet-red face of Jon after he all but ran from his private room, many were taking advantage of the women's skills.

But despite the pampering and relaxation, Nox couldn't help but feel more than a slight twinge of annoyance creep into his being. Not from the prospect of having to stay for a feast tonight. No, he had expected that they would have to stay one night in the company of the Dornish ruling family after returning with their wayward Prince. But rather his annoyance stemmed from the conversation he'd had with Asha and Wendel Manderly just prior to entering the baths. Apparently, neither the _Sea Wolf_ nor Asha's yet unnamed galleon had managed to escape their little skirmish completely unharmed. And because they were docked, both decided that now would be the most opportune moment to see to their repairs before starting their next leg north. Unfortunately, the damage to both ships, while not extensive nor enough to make either unseaworthy, was worrying. And at best would take a few days to repair fully. So, with nothing better to do, the crew dispersed into the city while those of more noble birth took guest rooms in the Tower of the Sun. The only two who decided to stay on the ship were Gerion Lannister and Talisa Maegyr. The latter because she wanted to work on finalizing her notes for their greyscale cure. And the former because he was a Lannister, and despite as much good will as he might've earned with Prince Oberyn he didn't want to test the hospitality of the Martells by forcing them to welcome a Lannister, and the brother of Tywin Lannister no less, into their home.

Ever since they'd left Valyria, he'd been receiving, well, not visions but feelings. Sensations. Sensations that were emanating from the North. Something was happening in the North. Something important. Something that he needed to be there for. Yet here he was. Stuck in Dorne for several days while he waited for their ships to be fully repaired. And while he sat on his ass, that strange sensation only grew in annoyance. What was worse, he couldn't see what was causing the strange disturbances. In fact, his sight had been quite clouded by something ever since they'd passed by the Stepstones. He'd thought that after taking out the dark side entity that'd made its home in Valyria that he would gain some better clairvoyance in his visions, particularly the one that led him to make his home in the North. But instead, the exact opposite had happened. His visions were even more clouded now than they were before. It was almost as if something or someone was on purposefully blocking his sight. Though the who, where, what, and how currently escaped him.

"You know, sorcerer, if I didn't know for a fact you got a woman waiting for you back in the North, I would swear that you prefer the company of a man in your bed rather than women."

Rolling his head to the side, he turned in the direction he knew where Small Jon Umber was currently relaxing in a stone bath of his own. "Oh, and why do you say that?"

The Small Jon snorted, "what are we supposed to think sorcerer huh? Bravos, Volantis and now here in Dorne. All these exotic cunts to sample and yet you keep it in your pants. Think you're the only man on the ship who hasn't gone for a taste. Except for young Jon here, eh, boy? Unless you decided to sneak off and sample some foreign cunt while none of us were looking, eh?"

Jon went redder than before and tried to disappear beneath the edge of the tube he was in. "Come off it, 'Small' Jon," Nox groaned. He could understand being excited for sex. But honestly, between the Small Jon and Theon, he wasn't sure just who had the more one-tract mind when it came to the subject. "Snow here hasn't even hit three-and-ten yet. And, as for myself, I am content with Nyra waiting for me back in the North. And I told her I wouldn't lay with another woman till I returned to her, and I am a man of my word."

"Hahaha! She's got ya by the balls, eh, sorcerer?" Small Jon gaffed, splashing water out of the tube as he made to pinch the rear of the woman rubbing his shoulders, and getting a sultry chuckling in response. "Come now, we're in Dorne, sorcerer! Dorne! And these girls know a good find when they see one! Why not take advantage of our hosts' hospitality? Unless you're more than a little…disappointing below the belt, eh? Bet that's it. Gotta compensate with your magic, huh?"

Shaking his head, Nox rose from the tub he was in to reveal that he had gone without a towel when he stepped in. Life as a slave and as a Sith had removed most reservations of modesty from him. And add to the fact that he couldn't physically see added to the fact that he didn't care who saw his body. "F-F-Fucking hells, sorcerer!" Umber stuttered as the woman who was massaging his shoulders ceased her menstruations as Nox got out of his bath and reached for a nearby towel. "Was your father part horse or something?! For gods' sake, leave something for the rest of us to compete against you with!"

"Now why would I do that?" Nox asked as he tied the towel around his waist as he rolled his neck and headed towards the exit of the bath. "Just because you can't 'measure up', doesn't mean I should limit myself in any manner."

Entering the separate room for changing, Nox found that all their clothes were gone and had been replaced with fine silken clothes of varying colors. For Nox, he found a pair of loose-fitting pants, a black silk shirt with gold trim and a light long overcoat that would reach the floor. _'Either Ellaria was taking careful note of our clothes sizes during the voyage, or Sunspear has some very talented seamstresses in their employ,_' he thought as he chucked the towel aside so he could dress in the clothes laid out for him.

Just as he was finishing up the lacing on his pants, he was joined in the room by his Apprentice, who had yet to get the heat in his face under control. "Um, Master Nox, where are our clothes?"

"More than likely being laundered," he answered, pulling on the shirt. It was a remarkably good fit. "Or destroyed. Seeing as how long we've been wearing them and what we've been through, I would put my money on the latter."

"Oh," Jon replied ineloquently as he awkwardly went over to where his new clothes were located and began going through them. "Umm, how did they know they would fit?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Nox shrugged, not really caring just how they got the new clothes but thankful for them nonetheless. He had been more than slightly tempted to simply burn the ones he had been wearing. "We need to speak of the feast tonight, Jon. And what is expected of you."

Jon paused with his hand halfway towards his new clothes. "I've been to a feast before, Master."

"In the North, yes. Here in Dorne, no, you haven't. And outside of the pure cultural differences between the North and Dorne, there is also the fact that you will more than likely be seated near, if not _at_, the high table with myself and the Martells."

Now he had Jon's full attention. His eyes going wide as his nerves raced about the prospect. "I – me…sitting near the high table? But – But I'm just as basta-"

"What have I told you time and time again about that title, Apprentice?" Nox asked, leaning forward and fixing his full presence on his Apprentice, making the young man shiver slightly as the dark side washed out of Nox and over him. "That title only means something if you _allow it_ to mean something. Stop using it as a crutch or I can guarantee you that next time you use it in my presence as such, you will _need_ a crutch for the next several months. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master," Jon nodded shakily.

"Good." Nox nodded, pulling his aura back into himself enough so that Jon could breathe properly. "You are an Apprentice to a Sith now, Jon. It's high time you start acting like one. Now, thanks to your little display in the yard in humiliating Ser Dayne as well as defending the honor of Princess Arianne, you have garnered quite a bit of favor within Prince Doran's court. But at the same time, you have more than likely made a few enemies as well. You must be on guard tonight. Those who are seeking your favor will be obvious. The women will want to bed you or stake a claim on you. And the men will either want you for their daughters or will be looking to poach you away from your family. And the enemies you made will be looking to belittle you and make you make an ass of yourself to lower your standing. Understand?"

Jon's flush, which had started to dissipate after being under Nox's aura, flared back to life. "Um, I – I think…I mean, yes. But why would the women want…well…me. And – And would it be so bad if—?"

"Think with your head, Jon, not your cock," Nox sighed, throwing the overcoat around his shoulders. "You need to get over this aversion you have to the fairer sex and sex in general. And I suggest you do so quickly before I take on that aspect of your training as well by locking you in a brothel and forcing you to watch the whores ply their trade until you can talk to or about beautiful women or men and think of sex without stammering like an idiot."

Stumbling as he attempted to put on his pants, Jon started stammering once more. "But – But that—! I – I don't…I know where to pu – I mean, I know how! Lord Stark talked to Robb and I about…duties and – and expectations and—"

"And knowing _about_ sex is a lot different than _knowing_ about sex, Jon," Nox sighed. "Finish dressing already and take a moment to compose yourself. The feast begins soon. And I will not have my first Apprentice in this land make a fool of me tonight."

* * *

Staring down at the glass of watered down Dornish red wine before him, Jon did his best to keep himself focused as all around him the feast in the Tower of the Sun went on well past the falling of the sun. His Master had been correct in the statements that he'd made to Jon after the baths. He had indeed been seated near the high table, just below the dais where the Martell family and Lord Nox were seated. He had also been right in that the feast was far, far different than anything he had ever experienced in the North. It wasn't just the fact that they were in Dorne and the Dornish people were vastly different than the Northern people. Nor was it the fact that he was freely given wine, watered downed wine to be sure, and he'd never even been offered that in the North. No, the one thing that truly set this feast apart from the others was the fact that Jon, again just like Lord Nox had predicted, was being constantly approached by Lords and Ladies from across Dorne! And they were talking to him! Not just to curry favor with his Lord Father or with Lord Nox or with his siblings. But simply because they were interested in _him!_ Jon Snow!

So far, he'd felt that he'd done a decent job in talking with the different Lords and Ladies, but it certainly wasn't easy. The Lords he could handle, as they mostly seemed interested in his skills with sword or his mind for the battlefield or his venture into Valyria. Those questions he could handle. But what he couldn't handle and almost made him want to run from the hall and find a corner to hide in were the Ladies. Many of them were, well, quite forward. Hells, one Lady who could've easily been older than Lady Stark had pointblank asked him if his cock was working properly yet and if he would be willing to give her a son from his loins! And she asked him this while holding onto the arm of her husband!

Then there were the more subtle offers he'd constantly received throughout the night from various Ladies and their daughters to either spend the night with them before he had to leave or to offer him a permanent place in their household as their paramour for the older Ladies or future husbands for the younger. Mercifully, after fending off the tenth or eleventh subtle hint at bedding, Asha and Dacey had taken it upon themselves to seat themselves at the two vacant seats on either side of him that'd been left empty when Small Jon and Eddard Karstark had both disappeared after being offered a dance.

Though sitting with the two had presented a whole new set of problems to Jon. Problems stemming from the fact that both women were wearing dark, form-fitting dresses. Though Asha seemed to have slit hers open down the front to expose the breeches she wore underneath. For as long as he'd known Asha, she'd always worn what Lady Stark would call 'men's clothes'. For over the past few months he'd known Dacey, he'd only ever seen her in leather or light cloth. To see both in dresses… Well, it was something that he never thought he'd see. But what was even more startling was that both seemed, well, pretty. No, beautiful. Not that they weren't before! But it seemed that by wearing dresses, their beauty was just…accentuated. So, he was having trouble keeping his eyes in…appropriate places when he looked at the two.

But the problems he was facing with the various Ladies of Dorne, Asha and Dacey paled in comparison with the real problem he was having during the feast. A problem that was sitting up at the high table with her father, Prince Doran, as well as Lord Nox. Princess Arianne Martell.

As was proper, the ruling family as well as their esteemed guest Lord Nox were the last to enter the banquet hall after all the others were seated. And when the Princess entered on the arm of Lord Nox, Jon was sure that his heart skipped a beat. When he'd first met the Princess earlier that day, he'd already thought she was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. But seeing her in a loose-fitting orange and red dress of her House colors that hugged her body in all the right places with golden ringlets in her hair… Jon was not one for jealously, at least he tried not to be. But when he saw her enter the hall on his master's arm, well, it wasn't the first time he'd wished death upon his Master. Only it was the first time he'd ever done so outside of one of his exhausting and brutal training sessions.

"If you don't close your mouth soon, Jon, you'll drool right into your food."

Shaking his head, Jon sent a half-glare in the direction of Asha, who wasn't even looking at him as she kept her eyes on the Lords and Ladies dancing in the middle of the hall while sipping on her wine. "I'm not drooling."

"You'd do a better job of convincing us if your tongue wasn't hanging out of your mouth like a dog ready to hump her leg," Dacey chuckled, making Jon growl as he found himself on the defense from the women on either side of himself.

Focusing on the food in front of him, a colorful assortment that he never would've thought possible, Jon tried his best to get himself under control once more. "We're just pulling your leg, Jon," Asha chuckled, tapping his shoulder with her knuckles. "You've done a good job so far tonight, thinking with your head instead of your cock. Just make sure you keep on doing that. Especially with that Princess staring at you like you're a rare piece of meat."

Gulping, Jon risked a glance towards the high table, just in time to watch Arianne slowly put a piece of food into her mouth. A mundane move, but from her… Gods… That just wasn't even fair! "She—She doesn't look at me like that."

Shaking her head, Asha drained her wine and refilled it. "Jon, every woman in this room, married or not, is looking at you like that right now because of that little display you did in the training yard. You just need to be careful, because I doubt many – if any – care about you as a person. They only care about securing your power and your connections for themselves."

"She – The Princess isn't like that!" Jon hissed, though where his anger was coming from confused even him at the time.

Setting her glass down, Asha fixed him with a look that chilled him to his bones. "Jon, I say this to you now because you're as much my little brother as Theon. But don't think for a moment that just because she has a pretty face and was nice to you that she doesn't want to use you. She's a Princess. An unmarried Princess that hasn't been officially declared as her father's heir. Which means she needs allies and power. And she will do whatever she needs to do to get that power. And you Jon, you are a prime target for one like her. Of course, I've known her for about as long as you have, so I could be wrong. But still. You need to be careful. If something sounds too good to be true, it quite often is."

Mulling her words over in his head, Jon risked another look towards Princess Arianne. _'She…She isn't like that…is she? She was so nice earlier and… But then again, I am a bastard. What…What use am I to her? A Princess? I'm young, not yet a man. Not like the other men here. All I have is the Force… Is that…? Is that the only reason she is interested in me?_' With those thoughts running through his mind, Jon suddenly lost interest in the feast going on around him and the food before him as he sat emotionlessly thinking over everything that had happened over the past day and wondering if anything that'd happened during his brief exchange with the Princess was genuine or not.

* * *

Sipping on her wine, a fine vintage of Dornish Red, Arianne watched the dancing taking place before her in the great hall of the Tower of the Sun. Normally, she would be in the midst of the dancing, enjoying herself and working on making the connections that would grant her a smooth transition into her father's seat in the future. But that was not her purpose for this feast. No, this was her opportunity to make a different sort of connection. One that could firmly secure her future. The only problem was, the one that she had her sight set on was seated a fair distance from her and had been almost pointedly ignoring her and the festivities going on around him ever since the Greyjoy woman talked to him. And if that wasn't bad enough, the Mormont woman was sitting right next to him and seemed to be the only one he was willing to talk to.

'_It appears that I am going to have to be the one to make the first move_,' she thought with a frown as she noticed Jon look towards her, blush, and quickly turn away again. '_The Mormont girl is hovering over him like a protective mother hen. But, perhaps, this will be the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with a single stone_.'

Getting to her feet, she took up her glass of wine and made her way over towards the squire's table where her new objective sat. '_Good, he's staring_,' she thought with just the slightest bit of glee as she spotted Jon following her intently out of the corner of her eye, '_I did wear this outfit to catch his attention. Glad to see my efforts were not in vain_.'

Arriving at the squire's table, all the squires immediately stood up and bowed their heads to her. Giving them all a polite nod in return, she promptly shooed them all away save for the one she needed to speak with. Her uncle's squire Daemon. "I must say, Daemon," she began, setting down her glass and taking a seat. "I'm surprised to see you with your ass still firmly planted on your seat with such a prize just across the room."

Daemon gave her a strained look. He knew exactly what she was speaking off, or rather who she was speaking of. "I don't know what you're talking about Arianne."

She couldn't help but chuckle at his antics. It was quite the sight to see the man she knew intimately squirm so. "Oh, come now, Daemon. I know you better than anyone else. Unless, of course, you've been running off to the red lantern district while I wasn't looking. I know what gets your blood moving. Dark hair. Fair complexion. Strong features. A warrior woman. And eyes that says she would brain the first man who looked at her wrong? I'm surprised your 'sword' has not cut its way out from your breeches just from looking at her."

Daemon scowled at her but didn't correct her. "And what about you, Arianne? I've noticed your future conquest is sitting right over there and he was practically drooling the moment you stepped foot in the hall. Why aren't you staking your claim and ruining all other women for him?"

"Details," Arianne replied dismissively with a wave of her hand. No way she was about to tell him that Jon was pointedly ignoring her as of halfway through the feast. "But now, I see a way that two friends can help each other out. We drag those two out onto the dance floor. And later perhaps you will be able to have some real fun with the one who has stolen what I couldn't with just her appearance."

She hadn't meant to say the last part, but it had slipped out on her before she could stop herself. "Much to my regret, Arianne."

Sighing, she polished off her glass of wine. "We had our fun, Daemon, and it was fun never doubt that. And you will always hold a place in my heart because of it. But you and I both know that there was no spark between us. And if I can help you find what truly strikes your interest, then I will do exactly that. Even if I have to drag you over to her kicking and screaming."

Nodding, Daemon finished off his own glass and rose to his feet while holding out his hand to her. "Well, let us not let our future fun slip from us. We have only the one night for now. And who knows how long it will be before either of us have a chance to meet them once more."

"Indeed." Arianne agreed, taking his hand. "Let us go show those two what true Dornish hospitality is like."

Looping her arm through Daemon's, she let her uncle's squire take the lead as he led the two of them around the dining hall and towards their targets for the night. As they approached, Jon was unsurprisingly the first to notice them. He quickly shot to his feet the moment he realized they were indeed heading for him. "Um, Princess Arianne, it – um…"

"As eloquent as this morning, good to see that you are consistent, Jon," Arianne smiled, finding his stammering amusing and flattering at the same time. "And you would be Lady Dacey Mormont. It is an honor and privilege to meet you. Even in Dorne, we have heard of the strength of the bears of Bear Island and respect you for it."

Lady Mormont seemed caught off guard. Apparently, she hadn't been expecting Arianne to greet her personally, or perhaps to even acknowledge her presence. "Um, thank you, Princess. And, um, may I say that your Uncle, Prince Oberyn greatly undersold your beauty."

'_Apparently proper etiquette is not high on priorities in the North. Eh, I suppose it's understandable, all things considered. The North has never cared for the Great Game. They're too preoccupied with keeping their people alive through the winter and waging a never-ending war against the Wildlings. Something I can greatly respect_.' Arianne smiled in return. "Thank you, my Lady. And may I introduce my Uncle Oberyn's squire, Daemon Sand."

"Jon here already knows all about me. He used me as a training dummy well enough this morning." Daemon joked, which drew a chuckle from the Mormont woman and a slight blush from Jon. "But you, my lady? May I say it is indeed an honor to make your acquaintance. And if you would do me the honor, I would love to have the chance to speak and dance with you this evening."

Lady Mormont arched a brow at Daemon, but Arianne could detect the slightest of red appearing in the warrior-woman's cheeks. "Do you think it is that easy to woo me, Ser Daemon? Remember, I have had to put up with Prince Oberyn's advances for nearly two months now."

"Just Daemon, my Lady. I am not Lord and I am not yet a knight. And if it truly were that easy to woo you, my lady, then you would already be on the floor in the arms of one of the men of Dorne. Yet here you are. Alone. And a woman as beautiful and powerful as yourself should not be alone. Yet I hope that you would grant this loyal man the honor of your presence tonight. And perhaps tomorrow the two of us can dance a different dance in the yard to see if the She-Bears of Bear Island are truly as strong as any man in the realm?"

The reddening in Dacey's face had progressed to fully encompass both of her cheeks by the time Daemon had finished speaking. _'Smooth, Daemon. Appealing to both her womanly and warrior sides. Very smooth_.' "Do you honestly think you can keep up with me, Daemon?" Dacey asked, a slight hitch in her voice.

Gracing her with a smile, Daemon let go of her and held out his hand for Dacey. "I would very much like the opportunity to try, my Lady."

"Keep speaking like that, Daemon, and I will have to find a better use for that tongue of yours," Dacey replied, mildly shocking all three present as she took Daemon's offered hand. "What? You try spending months isolated on a ship with your uncle and his paramour constantly going at it like bears in heat while constantly fending off their advances and see what kind of colorful manner of speech you pick up. Jon…? Good luck."

Daemon then swept Dacey off her feet, almost literally, as he led her off onto the dance floor. And Arianne found herself in the very unusual position of simply being left standing before Jon, who was doing little more than shifting his feet awkwardly before her.

"Well?" Arianne asked, trying to keep her impatience from showing in her tone. '_He's still young yet,_' she reminded himself. "It is usually not custom for a woman to ask a man to dance. Nor is it considered polite to simply leave any Lady, let alone a Princess in her own home, wanting."

"Um – oh. I, um, sorry, Prin – Arianne. Um, would you please…? Um, do me the honor of… Will you give me the hon – Um, will you dance with me?" he asked more than slightly awkwardly.

'_Points for manning up finally. But he definitely needs some honing of skills outside the yard_.' "Why, yes, Apprentice Snow," she wasn't entirely sure of the title. But he wasn't a knight yet, so Apprentice worked as well as any. "I would be delighted to see how well you fare on a different field."

"Apprentice?" Jon mouthed, seeming to test the title on his lips. "I lik – Oh, shite. I mean, don't I – I…I'm mucking this up, aren't I?"

"Just a little," Arianne chuckled. Honestly, his fumbling was cute in a way. "But you can more than make it up to me by showing me a good time tonight. And stop ignoring me."

Jon flinched and, for a moment, she felt a ping of regret. She hadn't meant to let that slip. By the waters of Rhyone, what was wrong with her tonight? It wasn't like her to lose control of her tongue so easily like this. "I apologize, Princes Arianne," Jon replied, his back straightening and offering her his hand. "Would you grant me the honor of your presence on the dance floor this evening, Princess?"

"Better," she smiled, taking his hand. "And yes, you may. I do hope you know how to dance. For I am a…demanding partner, Apprentice Snow."

Letting him lead her out onto the floor, Arianne stopped when she felt they were far enough in and placed her right hand onto his shoulder while holding onto his left with her own. Her amusement increased substantially as she felt Jon's right hand lightly touch her side, before moving up, then down, then off her before settling back down. '_Trying to find a spot to hold me that is socially acceptable. Oh, I do so love the innocent. From what I've heard from my Uncle and Aunt Ellaria, it is often the most innocent ones that have the dirtiest and most adventurous minds. Let's hope they weren't simply blowing smoke_.'

The dance started out awkwardly with Jon almost stepping on her feet twice. But after the second time it was almost like something flipped in the young man. His awkwardness disappeared. He met her eyes. He tightened his hold on her and he started leading her through the waltz that the bards were performing. "I must say, Jon, you are quite the dancer. I take it Lady Stark insisted on you having lessons with your siblings?"

She knew the question was a mistake the moment it left her lips as Jon's eyes darkened slightly before quickly returning to normal. "No, if it was up to Lady Stark, I would've been left out in the woods when I was still but a babe."

Arianne suppressed the wince. Obviously, Lady Stark was a sore subject for Jon. Not that she was necessarily surprised. The, well, prudes of the Riverlands and the Reach were notorious for their ill treatment of illegitimate children. Even going as far as doing exactly as Jon described. Leaving them out in the woods when they are still in their nappies. "Lord Nox then?"

This time she got a slight grin out of Jon. "Wrong again, Princess. It was my sister, Arya. She… Well, let's just say that she would probably be right at home with your Uncle's daughters. She'd much rather be out in the yard shooting arrows or fighting than sitting in a tower doing needle work. In fact, she hates just about any activity that is associated with being what Lady Stark considers proper womanly activities. It was actually quite entertaining to watch her face when Master Nox took her daughter on as one of his Acolytes."

"Lord Nox is teaching your sister as well?" She wasn't quite sure just why that little fact surprised her, but it did. She knew from the rumors circulating around the realm that Nox was teaching Stark's children. She just hadn't put it together that he was teaching both his sons and his daughters.

"Aye," Jon nodded, "Master Nox doesn't care for one's birth or their sex, Princess. You are either worth his time or you are not. Hells, the College he started in Winterfell had a woman in the first class as well as a young man who he literally picked up from the streets of Winter Town as he was walking through it one day. It's – It's one of the many things I admire and respect about him."

Arianne racked her brain as Jon twirled her around in a tight circle before reaffirming his hold on her. She needed to leave an impression on Jon. A good impression. And not just because he could help her in the future with her aspirations. She…She wanted Jon to have a good impression of her. Not the Apprentice of Lord Nox or the son of the Warden of the North. No. She wanted to leave a good impression on _Jon Snow_, the young man before her. "You care for your siblings. I can hear it in your voice, Jon."

"Aye, that I do, Princess," Jon smiled, a far-off look entering his eye. "They – There isn't anything I wouldn't do to make sure they are all safe. I suppose that is one of the reasons I want to succeed so bad under Master Nox. I want to prove myself worthy to protect them. From anything. Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon…even Sansa. I will not see any harm fall upon them."

'_He's very protective of his family. A good trait to have and one that will serve him well in the future once he has children_.' Unbidden, an image came to her of little children running around her with dark-grey eyes, black hair, and tan skin. An image she promptly dismissed. '_That future is not set in stone yet. And I cannot let myself be consumed by such fantasies just yet_.' "And tell me, Jon, where do you see yourself once your Apprenticeship with Lord Nox has concluded?"

The question seemed to catch Jon off-guard. But he recovered quickly, and a strange glint entered his eyes as he seemed to almost close off. "I – I don't know, honestly. I'll probably stay with my brother and serve where he needs me most, Princess."

'_Asking about his future has undone all the work I put into loosening him up,_' Arianne could've cursed. '_Damn it. What did that Greyjoy woman put into his head that has him so on guard? I could probably guess, and in truth she wouldn't be half wrong. But still, this is starting to get more than a little annoying_.'

Stopping their dance, Arianne made sure she had his full and undivided attention. "It is getting quite stuffy in here. Don't you think, Jon?"

"Um, yes. A little, Princess. But to a Northerner like myself, if it isn't snowing, then it's always stuffy and warm."

"Then you agree with the need for some fresh air," she nodded, holding out her arm. "Will you do me the honor of escorting me outside, Jon. And please, for the love of the gods call me Arianne, not Princess. I do quite enjoy hearing my name leave your lips."

The abrupt change did as she intended and put Jon off balance once more. "Um, I – I guess Prin – Arianne."

"Good," she said, looping her arm through his and pointedly leading him out of the hall and out into the cool night air of Dorne.

Spying Tyene near the entrance to the hall, she gave her cousin a quick look and a subtle motion with the fingers of her offhand. Years ago, Arianne and her cousins had developed a mild code system using their hands. Usually it was to ask for help when they wanted to escape from certain social obligations. But over time it'd changed to encompass much more. This time, the signal she gave her cousin was to make sure that she and Jon would have privacy. Getting the message, Tyene gave her a quick nod before moving through the crowd to collect her sisters to ensure she and Jon would not be disturbed when she decided to sit him down.

Leading him out into the courtyard, Arianne kept a firm hold on Jon's arm until the two of them reached the far end, well away from the great hall and close to the Tower of the Sun. Spotting a stone bench, Arianne purposefully led Jon over and sat the two of them down. '_Well, I got him out here. Now…what the hell do I say?_' she thought, wracking her brain for how best to play this situation out. '_He is not like any other man I've met or played this game with. Perhaps he doesn't know how to play? Or maybe he just doesn't play the game. Hm… Well, where subtly fails, let us just try brute force then_.'

"Tell me, Jon, what is it that Lady Greyjoy said to you that has put you so on edge around me?"

"I – I don't know what you mean, Pri – Arianne."

Smiling, Arianne patted his knee. "Your attempt is cute, Jon, but don't try and lie to me. You don't have the experience yet to tell a successful lie without a tell. But to be fair, I don't think I need you to tell me what Greyjoy said to you. I can pretty much guess. She warned you to be wary of me, that I was only interested in you because of your power. Am I wrong?"

Jon didn't seem surprised at what she said. "Are you? Is that the only reason you're paying attention to me? I'm only a bastard. There is nothing else special about me that would warrant the attention from a Princess."

A not-so-small part of Arianne wanted to bang her head against the wall. '_Please tell me that he is not this dense. Please, gods, tell me that it is just his age acting up combined with a distinct lack of instruction regarding nobles and the Higher Houses of Westeros_.' "Tell me, Jon. Do you truly understand your current situation regarding the realm and your potential future?"

"My situation?" Jon asked curiously as if the idea was completely foreign to him. "I'm just a bastard."

"Just a bastard," Arianne repeated before sighing. '_Apparently, both Lord Nox and Lord Stark have been lax in certain aspects of his education_.' "A bastard you may be. But you are the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North and a near-brother to Robert Baratheon. You have been raised alongside your trueborn siblings and have been well educated your entire life. And, as if that wasn't enough, you are the first and only Apprentice to the Northern Sorcerer, Lord Nox. A man that is both respected and feared throughout the land by both the high and lowborn. Your status, Jon, bastard aside, is unique to any in Westeros. Hells, if it hasn't started already, I can guarantee that Lords and Ladies across the realm will be lining up to throw their daughters at you in the hopes of claiming you."

Jon looked extremely uncomfortable with the idea. "And I suppose that you are not like them Pri – Arianne?"

This is where she knew she had to be careful. It wouldn't do to outright lie to him, as that could drive an irreversible wedge between them. But she couldn't be too blunt as that could also drive a wedge that his naive and youthful mind wouldn't allow to be removed. "I will not lie to you, Jon: at first, yes. The fact that you were learning directly from the Sorcerer did intrigue me and drew my attention towards you. But do not think that I am some simple-minded fool that claws or whores myself out for even the slightest chance at getting a taste of power. That is not what I am looking for in the long run. I need someone strong. Someone I can count on to stand by my side. Not someone who will simply use me and toss me aside. So, I started looking into you. Granted, given the distance between Dorne and the North, it was exceedingly difficult to find out much. And had I learned that you were a simple barbarian that abused your gifts, I would've written you off and gone about my life. But, instead, the few scraps of information I managed to find out about you only served to paint you in the best of light. While we have only known each other for a few hours now, I can tell that you are indeed a good man and that you will grow into a great man one day. I do consider myself an excellent judge of character, Jon. You were teaching Daemon in the yard and seemingly enjoying it, a fact that in and of itself is quite amazing. When you fought against him, despite having the clear advantage, you did not humiliate him. When that idiot Ser Dayne stepped in and insulted me and my house, you quickly rose to my defense, even though you knew next to nothing about me. And you are quite dashing, even if you still are not yet old enough to grow little more than a bit of fuzz on your cheeks."

Jon's cheeks were quite red by the time she'd finished. "I – I thank you, P – Arianne. Um, I really don't know what to say to that."

Smiling, she patted his cheek lightly. "Usually, when a woman delivers a compliment like that, Jon, it is considered proper to reply with one in turn."

"Oh, um, well – I think you are a nice person, I mean, a beautiful woman Arianne. And I don't think you're a whor – I didn't mean to say that! No, wait, I did. No, ummm," Jon stammered. "I mean, I already said that you are, umm – and I should probably stop making a fool of myself."

Arianne couldn't help it, watching him stammer was just too, well, cute. "It's alright, Jon. It just means that you must practice, that's all. And it wasn't all that bad of a compliment."

The two fell into an easy silence as they continued to sit beneath the stars of Dorne while off in the distance the bards continued to play and sign to all who would hear their tune. "Um, may I ask you a question, Arianne?"

She couldn't resist. "You just did, Jon. But I suppose I wouldn't be opposed to a second, should you have it."

Jon blinked at her, then chuckled and shook his head. "Gods, you remind me of my sister. Both actually, to a point, I guess. But what I wanted to ask you is, well… You asked me where I saw myself in the future. Well, may I ask you the same, Arianne?"

Tilting her head back, Arianne gazed skywards. "Dorne is much different from the other Kingdoms that make up Westeros, Jon. Not just in our, well, more liberal approach to certain topics. But because of our line of succession. In Dorne, the mantle passes to the eldest born child, regardless of whether they are a boy or a girl. By all rights, I am in line to succeed my father once, gods forbid, he passes to the next life or steps down. That is the law. I may not have always been the best of students, but recently I have done everything I can to ensure to my father and our bannerman that Dorne will continue to be in good hands once I take over rulership. But my father… Years ago, I discovered a secret letter he was sending to my brother. My younger brother. In it, he stated categorically that he had every intention for my brother to become the next ruling Prince of Dorne. Not me. And to add insult to injury, the only betrothal requests my father entertains for my hand are with those who are either still in a cradle or those who are so old that I doubt they would be able to 'rise' without parading a troupe of naked whores through their room."

"Oh," Jon muttered, his eyes wide. "I didn't know. I – I'm sorry."

"You couldn't know," Arianne sighed. "And I am working to ensure that whatever my father plans for me, they do not come to fruition."

"But…why?" Jon asked, drawing a sharp look from Arianne, prompting the boy to stammer to make a decent follow up. "I – I mean, I can understand you being the eldest and all. I mean, I can't imagine what Robb would say should Lord Stark declare that Bran was to become the next Warden of the North. I – I don't mean to sound, well, stupid or mean, I guess. But why do you want to rule Dorne?"

Huffing, Arianne shifted herself on the cool stone bench. "Dorne is mine, by right and blood. It is my home, Jon. But more than that, I…I want to make things better. My father has been a good ruler for Dorne, but there are a lot of grumblings. Especially after he failed to receive any form of reparations after the murder of my Aunt and baby cousins at the end of the Rebellion. But since then Dorne has…stagnated. Then I see the way the North has blossomed the last few years. Your father and Lord Nox have taken the North from a land that many wrote off as an untamed snowy wilderness ruled by barbarians to being perhaps one of the wealthiest and most influential Kingdoms of Westeros. Even if many won't admit that fact. I…I want the same to happen here in Dorne. And I believe that I can do that." '_With my own Sorcerer by my side_.'

Jon seemed to almost be staring at her in wonder by the time she'd finished. "I – Whoa. You're passionate about this."

Again, she couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. "I'm Dornish. Passion pretty much defines everything about us."

"No," Jon said, shaking his head. "I – I can feel your passion, Arianne. You…You truly mean it. You're not just saying stuff to make yourself sound like a good person to me. You really are passionate about wanting to change your land for the better. It's…It's amazing. I haven't felt such passion like that in… Gods, I don't know if I ever _have_ felt such passion before."

She wasn't entirely just what Jon meant with his little speech, but something about her being 'passionate' about her goals seemed to resonate with him. But she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if she couldn't understand just what had happened. "As I said, passion is what makes the Dornish, well, Dornish." Arianne replied lamely, almost smacking herself for the comment.

Jon smiled, a smile that lit up his face and made her heart quicken. "Then, perhaps, I would enjoy more Dornish hospitality."

'_Oh, my dear sweet naive boy. You have no idea just what kind of realm you are walking into with that statement_,' she thought with a grin as an idea started formulating in her mind of just how…properly show the boy – young man her favor. "Well, I believe the feast is done for the night," she stated since she could no longer hear the music from the bards. "Would you do me the honor of escorting a Princess back to her rooms, young Apprentice?"

"Of course, Princess," Jon nearly shouted, jumping to his feet and hastily holding his hand out for her take. "It would be a sin for a woman of your beauty to wander the halls of her own home alone this night."

"Better," Arianne smiled, taking his hand and rising to her feet. '_So, he can learn. And he's a quick study. Even better_.'

Looping her arm through his, she steered him towards the hall that would take her towards her room. As they walked, she caught a quick glance of her cousin Nymeria hiding in the shadows of one of the columns. Motioning with the hand that was not holding onto Jon, she quietly dismissed her cousins for the night. '_Their aid will no longer be needed tonight_.'

"So, are your cousins going to follow us back to your room? Or – No, you've dismissed them for the night it seems."

Arianne nearly tripped. "W – What?"

"Now who is the one stammering, Arianne?" Jon asked, shooting her a cocky grin. "I suppose it's reassuring to know that your cousins are looking out for you. And I'm honored to know that you feel safe enough in my presence to dismiss your hidden guards."

'_Oh ho, he wants to play, huh? Well, Jon, once again you have no idea of the world you have just entered. Though, I am curious as to how he knew about my cousins. Tyene and Nymeria are especially good at making sure that no one will notice them unless they want them too_.' "And tell me, Jon, how did you notice my cousins were shadowing us? Tyene most especially will be most upset to know that she has been found out."

"Your cousins are good, Arianne. Very good. But… Well, let's just say that Lord Nox and I can cheat a bit, as he likes to say."

'_Oh, getting a little too big for your breeches, Jon. I'm going to have to take you down a peg or two before you leave me for the night. My honor as a player of the game all but demands it now_.' As they walked, she carefully pieced together how she would get the 'last word in', as it were. Granted, she'd been planning on this move since she invited the Northerners to feast with them after watching Jon's fantastic display in the yard, but she hadn't thought that she'd have to go through with it till now.

Arriving at the door to her room, she turned so her back was facing the door and she was facing Jon. "Well, Jon, it is a shame that you and the Northerners will be leaving come morning. Perhaps the two of us can break our fast together in the morning? I have come to quite enjoy your company this evening."

"I would be honored, Arianne," Jon replied. "But I don't know if we will be leaving right away tomorrow. Before we came here, Ser Manderly informed Lord Nox that the _Sea Wolf_ sustained a small bit of damage to the hull during our encounter with the pirates around the Stepstones. So, we might be here another day or two while the damage is repaired."

She wanted to do a little dance at hearing that the Jon would potentially be staying for another day or so. It would give her just that much more time to figure out just what she needed to do to leave a lasting impression on him. "I see. Well then, I hope to see more of you if you do stay beyond morning, Apprentice Jon."

"I would never dare to disappoint a Princess, Princess Arianne," he replied, raising her hand and placing a chaste kiss across her knuckles. "May you sleep well tonight, Arianne."

"You as well, Jon," she smiled, opening the door to her room and backing into it, but stopping just short of fully closing the door.

Peering out through the crack left in her door, she watched as Jon took a calming breath or two in the hall. And then waited until he turned and started walking away before making her move. "Apprentice Jon," she called out, opening the door and stopping him in his tracks. "It occurs to me that I have been quite remiss. I wagered my favor to the victor between you and Daemon. And I will not be known as one to go back on her word."

Jon made to say something, no doubt some honorable dribble about her not needing to worry about it. But what he was about to say died on his lips as she made her move. With two quick movements, the clasps that'd been holding her dress onto her shoulders were removed and her dress fell to the ground. It was almost comical, and endearing, to see the young man's eyes bulge and his face go scarlet as he saw firsthand that she had forgone any small clothes this evening. And it was also quite thrilling to see that her presence had a very…noticeable effect on another not-so-small part of him either. '_Very, very impressive…especially for one still so young as he.' _"Just a taste of what you can expect of my hospitality should you find yourself in Dorne on a more…permanent basis in the future, Jon Snow."

And with that, she quickly closed the door to her room, sealing it and setting the latch in place. '_Oh, that was fun_.'

* * *

Standing on what had become his customary spot on the covered bridge connecting Winterfell's great keep to the smithery, Ned Stark watched his eldest son and daughter. They were working together to coordinate the dozens, if not hundred or more, servants and builders around as they worked on setting up Winterfell for something that had never before happened in the North, or anywhere else in all of Westeros as far as Ned knew. Based on the suggestion of his heir, and after signing off on the idea, Winterfell would soon play host to the first ever 'Spring Inventors Fair'.

The idea had been presented to him by his son several months ago. Apparently, the idea had been floating around in his head for some time. It was based off something Nox had told him about his homeland, about how they valued and uplifted those who sought to better their society by not necessarily through strength of arms but rather through the strength of their minds. After working on the finer details of the fair for weeks, Robb finally approached him along with Maester Luwin and Samwell Tarly. Much to his shame, Ned's first inclination had been to reject the idea out of hand. The North did not have time for tournaments or extravagant displays. But the look of excitement on his son's face when he made his first pitch stilled his tongue and he decided to hear him out. And an hour later, Ned was glad that he did.

The knowledge and advances that Nox had brought to the North had propelled them to a position that Ned never thought the North would ever be in. The coffers of Winterfell were fuller than he had ever seen them as a boy or since he'd taken over Lordship. And he knew after speaking with Lord Manderly that White Harbor was in a similar position. The glass trade with not only the rest of Westeros but also Braavos and Pentos had brought in enough coin to start expanding their other exports as well. Ironwood from the Forresters was highly sought after, especially when crafted into armaments or furniture. For the first time, the North was exporting the excess food stuffs that they were growing from the glass gardens, which primarily consisted of the exotic fruits, grains, and vegetables that Nox had brought with him in the form of seeds. The blast furnaces were producing high quantities of high value steel that they were running out of uses for. And while his son's idea would probably not have the same immediate effect as Nox had on the North, it could still lay the groundwork for others outside of Nox advancing their stations and providing services to the North.

Robb's idea would encourage those throughout the North to follow in Nox's example. After all, as Robb had pointed out to him, it was impossible for them to know everything. A fact proven when his son asked him of the nuances of plowing and planting crops, which he had some knowledge of but not a lot. Robb had even come up with ways of encouraging the people to attend. The fair would last a week and during that time those who had new ways of doing things, or had discovered a new type of crop, or created something new and useful would have a chance to show it to himself and the other Lords of the North and explain its benefits and uses. Should whatever was presented prove worthwhile, then the individual who presented it would be gifted with coins or boons pending on what they offered. His son had even worked out a budget for the rewards!

And seeing as how the fair would last a sennight at least, Robb had also planned out other amusing activities almost like it was a tourney. The only difference was there wouldn't be men pretending to be at war. No, the events would be practical in nature. An archery tournament. A contest of strength. A hunting contest. And, once again, Robb had surprised him by planning out every gold dragon that would be awarded and where they would be able to recoup the cost.

With his blessing, Robb had taken over full planning of this 'fair' of his, and had sent out ravens to the major holdfasts, informing the various Lords of what was planned. And, in a move that surprised and mildly worried Ned, Robb showed a fair bit of political shrewdness as he planned the fair around his name day celebration. Which, as he was turning three-and-ten, the Lords of the North would be honor bound to attend. The responses they received from the various Lords of the North was surprisingly supportive.

At first, the fair had only been planning on having Northern houses attend. That had changed, however, when they received word back from Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort who informed them that not only would he be attending, but that his son Domeric would taking a short leave from his squiring duties under Lord Horton Redfort of the Vale to return home for the celebration. And Domeric would not be coming alone. While Lord Redfort would not be able to attend due to his duties, his son Mychel Redfort would be traveling with Domeric along with the knight he was squiring for Ser Lyn Corbray and a few other men at arms who were taking the opportunity to empty out their dungeons and escorting those who had volunteered to take the Black. Apparently after hearing about Ser Corbray's journey to the North, Lord 'Bronze Yohn' Royce had decided to journey with them along with his three sons. The youngest of whom was would be on his way to take the Black after they left Winterfell.

But despite the seemingly positive responses to the fair, perhaps one of the most supportive of responses came from Bear Island and the new head Lady of Bear Island, Lady Maege Mormont. Feeling the wood beneath his hands groan, Ned forced himself to relax. Thinking of what had transpired just two months prior still filled him with rage. The Mormonts had never been the wealthiest of families in the North, but they had always been amongst the most honorable and the most loyal of the Stark bannermen. That was of course until Jorah Mormont had decided to sell poachers to a Tyroshi slaver less than a month after Nox had left with his niece on the expedition to Valyria. How he even managed to get in touch with the slaver, let alone get him into the North, was a problem that still plagued Ned's mind. But the fact remained that he had violated one of the oldest taboos in the Seven Kingdoms by selling those men into slavery. His guilt was unquestionable and his sentence unavoidable. Yet, by the time Ned had arrived at Bear Island, Jorah and his wife Lynesse were both gone. Leaving only Longclaw, a confession, and a broken family behind.

Forcing such thoughts from his mind, he turned back to his children still in the yard directing the servants and craftsmen of Winterfell as if they were the Lord and Lady of Winterfell instead of just children. '_Cat's, as well as Lady Nyra's, lessons have been paying off for Sansa it seems_,' Ned thought with a smile as he watched his barely one-and-ten name day daughter direct with the experience of a seasoned Lady of a great keep. Ideally, both Cat and Nyra would be helping with this task, but Rickon had caught a spring sickness and Cat had refused to leave his sickbed. And Nyra, well, given recent events, it was best if she rested as much as possible. The last thing Ned needed was for Nox to come after him if anything ill were to happen.

"My lord, a raven has arrived."

Resisting the urge to groan, Ned nodded and held his hand out towards where he knew the Maester of Winterfell was standing just behind him. An unexpected raven was never a good thing. '_Dark wings and dark words'_, as the saying often went. "Who is it from?"

"Dorne, my Lord," Maester Luwin replied. "The raven came with two messages, my Lord. One bearing the mark of House Martell. And the other bearing Lord Nox's sigil."

Turning around quickly, Ned took the small scrolls from Luwin. One did indeed carry the mark of the Sunspear and the other carried the sigil Nox had taken to using. The Sorcerer's sigil was a simple circle with two three-pointed spikes on either side. Leaving the missive from the Martells for now, Ned broke the seal on Nox's note and quickly unrolled the scroll. It'd been over six months since they'd had word of the expedition. For all he knew, Nox and the others had perished in Valyria. Yet as he quickly read over the relatively short message, Ned felt himself sigh in relief. '_Jon is still alive and now Nox's official Apprentice. No other casualties amongst the nobility that went with him. However, they did loose over thirty men in Valyria. He doesn't mention what they managed to obtain, but he assures that it is a 'substantial sum that will see the North thrive for generations.' And Nox isn't one known for exaggerations._'

"My lord?"

"Nox has returned to Westerosi waters," Ned informed the Maester, folding the letter up and tucking it into his belt. "They had to resupply and do some minor repairs to the _Sea Wolf_ in Sunspear. By now, they should be approaching Storm's End."

Luwin's eyes widened. "From Storm's End, it should only take them a scant few weeks to arrive back in White Harbor."

"Aye," Ned nodded. "Have horses and carriages prepared. We're heading to White Harbor to welcome them home and to see what they've obtained from the Dragon Lords."

"Yes, my Lord," Luwin bowed. "What of your son Rickon, my lord? His sickness may have passed, but he is still weak in the lungs."

"He will remain as the Stark in Winterfell, along with my Lady wife," Ned decided almost immediately. "I'll inform my family myself, Maester Luwin. See to it that everything is ready for our trip to White Harbor. And make sure precautions are taken for Lady Nyra. Last thing I need is to alienate one of my closest allies should something ill befall her."

* * *

Whistling a merry tune as he marched his short legs through the corridors of the Rock, Tyrion Lannister; the Imp, the Halfman, overall lecher, and unofficial heir to the Rock despite what his father would claim, kept his gaze upwards as he made his way into his father's wing of the great keep. He'd just received word from his ears in Winterfell, and there were several things of import that he needed to discuss with his father and the Lord of the Westerlands. It'd taken more time than he cared to admit getting his eyes and ears in place in the North and even longer to get a timely communication set up with the two of them. But now that it was in place, he could get regular updates with each trade convoy that went North. Which, in no thanks to his brilliance, was now set to once every other month.

For nearly two years after setting his eyes and ears in place, there was very little information of import that the two would send him. What little information his spies were able to send him primarily consisted of the sorcerer's advancements in the fields of craftsmanship, the building of glass gardens, the growing of new exotic fruits, and his forming of a 'college' in Winterfell to train both men and women the sorcerer picked as if they were going to be Maesters. He urged his spy to try and get closer, but that had failed quite spectacularly. But despite the failure, it had led to and interesting discovery as it'd given credence to Nox's relationship with the former serving girl, Nyra, a woman with no family nor social standing. Still, though, he did find a small amount of amusement in hearing how his spy had tried to sneak into the Sorcerer's private quarters to seduce him, only to find the former serving girl already there and taking a bath while waiting for her lover to return.

His father though had not found any amusement in the story. Ever since he met the sorcerer, he'd been trying to plan a way to lure the sorcerer from the North and into House Lannister's service. Marriage, lands, and titles were of course the easiest course of action to take. But over the years, each of those had been slowly taken away from them. The Sorcerer, from everything he'd heard, was quite enamored with the former serving girl. And while his father normally would have no problems with simply 'removing' such an obstacle, he was hesitant in this instance as there was always a chance that such an action could lead back to them. Which spoke volumes as to how much his father respected and feared the sorcerer, though he would never publicly admit to the latter. So, while marriage was not apparently an option, lands and titles still were. But then that option was taken from them as well once Robert declared him a 'Lord', though without granting him any lands of his own.

There'd been a brief hope that the action would've driven a wedge between the sorcerer and Lord Stark, but that did not seem to be the cause. In fact, the sorcerer didn't even seem to care that he was even given the title in the first place! The man was nothing if not utterly confusing.

Thankfully, for both Tyrion, his spies, and the girls' families, the whore he'd sent to Winter Town just happened to catch the eye of the young Greyjoy lad two years ago once he came of age to start visiting the brothel. While she was able to get some decent information by carefully plying her trade to the guardsmen, the Greyjoy lad was a wealth of information. It was from the Greyjoy's mouth that Tyrion was able to learn of Nox's training of the Stark children well before it became general knowledge. And it was also through him that she was able to learn of the sorcerer's expedition to Valyria months before they set sail. Apparently, the boy had been quite vocal about the expedition. Mostly over the fact that his sister, Asha, had been allowed to take part and he'd been forced to stay behind. And now, his spies had relayed two other bits of information. One of which was only mildly interesting. While the other one was very, _very_ interesting.

Arriving at his father's solar, Tyrion gaze the two guardsmen a passing nod before waltzing directly into the room without knocking. The only occupant in the room was his father, sitting behind his desk with a Northern glass pitcher of Arbor gold on his desk. "Need I educate you on the purpose of knocking?" his father said levelly as Tyrion shut the door behind him.

"Oh, I knock on closed doors, but only in a brothel, father. Nothing worse than walking into a room only to see a man you know getting his cocked sucked dry by a pair of wonderfully painted whore's lips."

Reaching out for the pitcher he cursed his luck as his father without even bothering to look up from what he was working on, blindly reached out and snatched the pitcher away from him before Tyrion could get ahold of it. "I care not to hear of your constant shaming of our House, Tyrion," his father growled, refreshing his own glass before setting the pitcher back down, well out of Tyrion's reach unless he walked around the desk. "The trade vessel from the North has returned. What news do you have of the Stark children's progress and what news of the sorcerer?"

'_Of course he would want to start with Stark's children. Ever since he's learned of them having the same power as the sorcerer, he has almost completely shifted his focus from the sorcerer to the children. Afterall, it is far easier to claim a child through marriage rather than a full-grown man_.'

"Without the presence of the Sorcerer or the bastard, their training in the mystic arts have ground to a halt," Tyrion informed his father while pushing himself up into a cushioned chair. Honestly, if his father wasn't about to give him wine, he might as well make himself comfortable. "Though from what our ears have heard, Stark's heir as well as his second daughter are both quite powerful, even if we don't have a reference for what that might mean. If the eldest daughter has the same powers as her siblings and the sorcerer, she is denying them and not participating in any training. The second eldest son just began training before the sorcerer left, so his skills are minimal at best. And the youngest is still shitting himself and struggling to walk straight. So, I doubt if we will be hearing any tales of him toppling towers any time soon."

"And what abilities are Stark's heir and his second daughter showing?"

"Outside of Robb moving stones larger than a man with his mind and showing the strength and skill of a man ten years his senior in the training yard, nothing much," he replied, scratching the back of his head. "Not sure if they're hiding their true abilities, or if that's the extent of them. Our eyes have noted, however, that the young Stark girl seems to almost disappear at will. Not sure what to make of that, however."

"Has there been word of the sorcerer and whether or not he and the bastard were successful on their expedition to Valyria?"

Tyrion knew that his father was extremely interested in this, as was most of the realm for that matter. But his father especially was, though not necessarily for the reason many may think. It was well known that his Uncle Gerion had taken a good number of Lannister men and one of their better galleons and had made off to explore the cursed land years ago and had not been heard of since. While Tyrion, and a few others in his family, were curious as to whether the sorcerer would return with knowledge of his uncle's fate, his father was concerned for another reason. If there were any who could potentially succeed in venturing into the depths of Valyria and return, it was the sorcerer. And once he did, gods only knew what he could come back with. As none had managed to make the trip successfully since the Doom, no one truly knew what he'd find. Valyrian steel, perhaps even the method to make the steel, gold, lost knowledge? If he came back with even _one_ of those things, he could propel the North into a true power in Westeros capable of toppling any of the other Great Houses. After all, there was a reason the Valyrian Empire's rule was unquestioned until the Doom.

"There has been no word yet. But it has only been six months since he departed."

Dusting the piece of paper he'd finished writing on, his father set the parchment aside and pulled out another sheet. "And what new information do your whores have for us?"

"Apparently, the Stark heir has been working to prove himself since the sorcerer and his bastard brother left Westeros," Tyrion started, eyeing the wine pitcher and glasses longingly. "He's organized what is being called an 'inventors fair'. He's inviting Lords and Ladies and smallfolk from all over the North to visit Winterfell for the week surrounding his name day. During this time, any who have inventions, new processes, or new products can present them before the Warden of the North. Should he find them worthwhile, he will reward the one who brought it forth with coins, titles, or support to expand. And word is that the 'students' at the Winterfell College will also be displaying some of what they've been working on to garner more support from the local Lords. There are also going to be a few competitions as well. Though, no jousting nor a melee."

In truth, the moment Tyrion heard of the fair he'd wanted to take the first ship North and put his name into whatever lists were available. Given his nature as the halfman, he would never be able to enter a tourney, and if he did it would only be as a joke. But this fair in the North was a tourney that emphasized the strength of the mind over the strength or skill of one's body. And that was a competition that he could not only get behind, but that he was pretty sure he could easily win!

"I see," his father stated simply, seemingly not caring about the event in the slightest. "And what else have you heard?"

His father might not have been interested in the first piece of news, but Tyrion knew that he would be interested in the next bit. "Well, there has been a rather interesting development in Winterfell lately. They've kept it quiet for the most part, but the Greyjoy lad seems to like to run his mouth when he's in the throes of pleasure. And this development just happens to revolve around the former serving girl turned Lady, Nyra."

His father's quill stopped mid move. "Tell me everything."

* * *

_"Please, brother, s-"_

_"I am not your brother! I am your king! I am the dragon! And you, dear sweet idiot sister, have woken the dragon! And now, now you must suffer the consequences for your insolence!"_

_Violet eyes on a young girl's face turned towards him, pleading for him to do something – anything – to help as the man that had a tight hold on the girl's arm raised his hand high in the air before bringing it down harshly onto her cheek._

Letting out a pained yell, Jon sat bolt upright, smacking his head against the low hanging ceiling that was above his bunk. Rubbing his forehead and doing his best to block out the pain, Jon swung his feet over the side of his bunk in his small cabin onboard the _Sea Wolf_ and rested his head in his hands with his elbows against his knees. The dream he'd just experienced was, well, _strange_ to say the least. If it was the first time he'd had such a dream, he would have just ignored it. But this wasn't the first time he'd had such a dream. In fact, it wasn't the first time he'd had a dream about her, even if he didn't know just who she was. He'd seen her more than once in his dreams since they'd left Valyria. Well, three times now. But this is was the first time that she looked at him during the dream.

'_Once is mere chance. Twice is coincidence. Thrice is a pattern_.' Jon remembered Lord Nox telling him during their training. '_Let's just hope that Master Nox can provide some answers to these strange dreams_.'

Getting up from his bunk and throwing on a shirt and pants, Jon left his cabin and made the short journey up the nearby flight of stairs and to the main deck of the _Sea Wolf_. On the main deck, life was pretty much proceeding like normal for the crew. The sailors worked the riggings while the various nobles went around the ship offering a helping hand wherever they could. The only real noticeable difference was the slight decrease in the number of sailors on board. But that was explained by the captured galleon that was sailing a fair distance behind them while being captained, at least temporarily, by Asha Greyjoy.

Giving a few polite nods to those he'd gotten to know extremely well over the past near seven months, Jon made his way towards the rear of the ship and Lord Nox's cabin. Giving a few light knocks on the wood, Jon waited until he heard Nox call for him to enter before walking in. It was never smart, nor healthy for that matter, to walk in on Lord Nox uninvited.

The interior of Nox's cabin was, as to be expected, almost immaculately clean. All save for the table of course, which throughout the entire voyage had been constantly filled with books, scrolls, and, as of late, crystals from Valyria. Much like the one that Lord Nox had standing on end before him as he leant over the table. And, it might have been a trick of the sun, but Jon could've sworn he saw the crystal glowing and some sort of mist hovering above the crystal when he first walked in.

"Trouble sleeping, Jon?"

"Aye," Jon nodded, deciding not to press on the crystal and instead focus on the reason he'd come to his Master in the first place. "I've been having strange dreams for some time now. Dreams of a young woman."

Nox's face lifted from the crystal and a grin spread across his face. "Dreaming of Princess Arianne already Jon? Tsk, Tsk. It isn't proper to have such dreams about a Lady, let alone a Princess of the Dorne. Though, if she takes after her uncle in any regard, I'm sure she'd not only encourage such dreams, she'd also gave you ample material to dream over."

For not the first time, Jon was glad for his Master's lack of sight as he felt his face heat upon the mention of the Dornish Princess. The embarrassing fact was his Master wasn't wrong. Jon had had more than a few dreams of the Dornish beauty since they'd left Sunspear. Just thinking about how she bared herself to him after the feast was enough to give rise to a problem that he'd had to 'take in hand' more than a few times. But it wasn't just her beauty, or the fact that she was the first woman that he saw bare. She'd also taken a firm hold of his thoughts because of just who she was. The two had spent almost the entire day together in her chambers, with her cousins present of course, just talking. Honestly, Jon couldn't think of another time he ever said so much than those few hours he'd spent in her company. They talked about everything from family to politics to Jon's training and potential futures. And while nothing had been set between the two of them, her offer of making him her Consort in ruling Dorne had given him a potential future he'd never dared imagining before. Though a large part of him doubted such a future would ever come to pass, she was a _Princess_ after all and of age to marry. The thought was still a pleasant one.

"No. I mean I have, well I've dreamed of Arianne and – no, no. This isn't about her." Jon said desperately trying to keep the thoughts of the Princess bare before him – her perk breasts, and pointed ni – No! He needed to put thoughts of her aside for now. "This is about another girl. A – A girl with violet eyes. I – I think it's the same girl I ran into in Volantis. The one you asked me about before we met with Prince Oberyn."

The change was subtle, but after years of studying under Lord Nox, Jon had a feeling that he at least could spot when his Master was interested in something. The fact he stopped working on anything else and leaned forward a touch screamed to Jon that he had indeed peaked his Master's interest. "And what do these dreams of yours entail?"

"Well, not much," he replied awkwardly. "All I can see is darkness and her. And whatever she's touching or whatever or whoever is touching her. The dream I had just now. She was with that same man as she was back in Volantis and…he was yelling at her and saying something about 'waking the dragon' or some such nonsense. Then…Then he raised his hand to strike her and – and she looked right at me. It was like she could see me and was pleading for my help. And then the dream ended, and I awoke. I've dreamed of her before but…but this was the first time she ever looked at me and _saw_ me."

"Interesting," Lord Nox replied, leaning back and rubbing at his chin. "And you say this is not the first time you've had such a dream since running into the young girl in Volantis, hmm? Very interesting."

Tapping his foot impatiently, Jon wished that his Master would just tell him what it was he was experiencing with these strange dreams. "Um, Master? Do you know what is happening?"

"Perhaps." His Master answered cryptically, making Jon's shoulders sag in defeat. "I can think of a few phenomena that could cause such an occurrence. Each one more unlikely than the last due to sheer rarity of the phenomenon occurring. But, in my experience in such matters, it is best not to rule out anything until you are completely sure it is not the case. Next time you have one of these dreams, and I can guarantee that you will, try and talk to this young girl if you can. Or, if by the off chance you happen to see her when you are awake, try and get her attention. If you can, it will help me narrow down the list of possibilities of what might be happening."

"I will try, Master," Jon bowed. Though with that now resolved, he wasn't quite sure just what to do next. "Um, Master. If you don't mind me asking, what is it with those crystals you were so intent on bringing back with us from Valyria? I mean, they don't seem valuable, not like the other gems. But, just now, I thought I saw a glow from that gem and some sort of mist forming above it."

Picking up the crystal, his Master turned it around as if to inspect if before his sightless eyes before motioning towards the empty folding chair next to him. "Take a seat, Jon. I suppose that now that you are my official Apprentice, I best begin delving deeper into the mysteries of the Force with you than I have in the past."

Quickly taking the seat, Jon tried not to let too much of his excitement show on his face at the prospect of learning more about the Force. "So, what are these crystals?" he asked, picking one up in his hand and peering into its depths. He could almost sense…something from within. But he had no clue as to just what that might be.

"If my hunch is correct, and after weeks of studying them I am fairly certain it is, then these are primitive versions of what my people called 'holocrons'." Nox explained, picking up another crystal, this one a pinkish color and the size of his fist. "Think of them as repositories of knowledge accessible only to those who are Force sensitive."

Blinking, Jon turned the crystal over in his hand. "So, these are basically books that only those like us can read? Why would they do that? Wouldn't it be easier to just write it down on paper instead of using these things?"

"Easier, yes. More secure, no."

"Secure?" Jon asked.

"Yes," Nox nodded. "The Valyrians were smart, Jon, very smart. They managed to conqueror Essos because of their dragons, which also served as a deterrent for any planning rebellion against them. But once they had control of Essos, they kept control through economics. Do you remember my lessons on what drives the price in the market?"

"Supply and demand?"

"Aye. The cost of something can be partially determined by these two factors. If you have something that everyone wants but is in low supply, then you can charge extra for it. But at the same time if you have something everyone desires but there is a surplus, then the cost will drop because people will know they can go elsewhere to acquire it. It is why the North is trying to keep a firm hold on the creation of glass. If everyone can make it, then the price of it will drop significantly. The same principle was used by the Valyrians, albeit with a different product. Can you take a guess as to what it was that the Valyrians had that everyone else wanted and were willing to pay a high price to obtain?"

"Their dragons," Jon answered immediately before thinking a bit harder. "But it takes a dragon lord to tame one, so not that. Valyrian steel?"

"Very good." Nox praised him. "The Valyrians controlled the economics of Essos through two factors: the slave trades and the trading of Valyrian steel. The slave trade controlled the people. And the trade of Valyrian steel controlled the coins. Now, using our theory of supply and demand, how would Valyrians keep a firm hold on the trade of Valyrian steel?"

Frowning, Jon stared down into the crystal. "By making sure that they were the only ones who knew how to make the steel," Jon stated, before his eyes widened in realization. "So, to keep the process secure, they developed a means of writing down the process of its creation in a manner that could only be read by those who had magic. The dragon lords."

"Very good, Jon," Nox praised him once again, making Jon sit up straighter.

"So, how do we read these crystals?" Jon asked, excitement racing through him at the prospect of learning an ancient Valyrian secret.

His hopes were quickly dashed though as Lord Nox set the crystal he was holding back down onto the table. "Well, that's the problem. These crystals, while similar to the holocrons of my home, are still different than what I'm used to. And while I've been able to ascertain that each crystal holds a wealth of knowledge within, I haven't been able to figure out just how to access it. The past few weeks have been quite frustrating."

The admission surprised Jon. He'd never known anything that his Master hadn't been able to do, know, or figure out in a relatively short period of time. To hear him admit that he didn't know how to accomplish something, it was something he never thought he'd ever hear from Lord Nox. Turning the crystal repeatedly in his hands, Jon tried to find something – anything – that might give him a clue as to how to open it. '_If only this was like a book and I could just simply open it. But I suppose that's the point. If it was easy to do, then the Valyrians wouldn't have felt the need to go this far._' "How do you usually open them, Master?"

"Picture your body as a bucket, and the Force within you as the water within," Nox explained, picking up one of the crystals again and causing a light glow to appear within. "The crystal in your hand is a second bucket. You want to pour the Force out of you and into the crystal. At least, that's how it's supposed to work in the simplest of terms. But, apparently, these have something else that triggers them. It's just a matter of discovering what that trigger is."

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Jon tried to copy his Master's instructions exactly. "Gods!" he exclaimed, nearly dropping the crystal as it lit up like a torch in his hand while a ghostly image of a lightly armored man appeared above his hand.

"Well, isn't that something," his Master mumbled as the two watched the ghostly figure speak in what Jon could only assume to be High Valyrian while seeming to demonstrate movements with a sword. "Turn it off by cutting off the Force you're allowing to flow into the crystal. Then repeat the process once more."

Closing off his connection with the crystal, Jon let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding as the light in the crystal died and the figure faded from view. Breathing again, Jon repeated exactly what he'd done before. And just like the time before, the crystal immediately came to life in his hand as the ghostly figure appeared above the surface of the crystal once more and began instructing once more. "So, that is how you did it. Figures it would've been something so simple." His Master muttered as he picked up the pink crystal once more.

The pink crystal immediately started glowing. Only instead of an armored man appearing, a scantily clad and very well blessed woman hovered over the surface of the crystal. And just like the man that appeared from his crystal, the woman started talking in High Valyrian the moment she appeared. "What are they saying, Master?"

Tilting his head to the side, his Master listened to the two voices for some time before answering him. "My High Valyrian isn't all that good right now. We'll need Talisa's help in translating them further or get her to up her lessons in the language. But from what I can tell, the man in your crystal is describing basic sword techniques that are best suited for use when riding a dragon. As for the woman… Well, she seems to be describing a sex ritual to ensure proper procreation. And I must say, she is quite vivid in her details. I think she could make even _Oberyn_ blush like a virgin maid."

Losing his connection to the crystal, the ghostly figure died out in his hand. "Um, that…"

"We're going to need to do something about the innocent nature of yours, Jon," his Master sighed, setting the crystal aside. "It wouldn't do for you to freeze up from the first sight of a pair of tits or from someone using crude language. And before you say that it won't happen, don't. I knew a woman who flashed a man during their fight. It distracted him enough to allow her to kill him. And I've invested far too much time and energy into you to let you die that easily. Honestly, I thought seeing Princess Arianne in her name-day suit would be enough to not make you blush at just the thought of sex but, apparently, I was wrong. Perhaps I need to lock you in a brothel all day so you can watch the whores apply their trade. That should knock some of those preconceived notions of modesty out of your head."

'_Gods damn it! How does he always…?! Wait…What is that?_'

Placing his hand against his head and squeezing his eyes shut, Jon fought against a sudden pain in his head that came upon him with no notice. But as strange as the sudden pain was, what was even stranger was how fast it left. Leaving not even a dull ache behind as a reminder of its brief presence. "Gods," he breathed, placing a hand to his head and surprised to find sweat forming on his brow. "Wh – What was that?"

"That, Jon, was a disturbance in the Force generated by a single individual that is not only fairly powerful in the Force, but also currently in excruciating pain."

Turning to his Master, Jon went to ask him what he meant, but Nox was already out of his seat and across the room. A chart of Westeros out in front of him and his fingers running along the coast. "With the speed we have been traveling, we should be passing by Blackwater Bay soon. Given the strength of the disturbance, the source must be nearby… Jon, inform Ser Manderly that we are to change course immediately. We're making a detour to Dragonstone."

"Yes, Master," Jon nodded, the crystals momentarily forgotten as he quickly got to his feet and all but ran out of the room to deliver Lord Nox's new orders to the crew.

* * *

The castle of Dragonstone was certainly an imposing sight, one that Nox knew more than one Sith Lord or even Dark Council Member would gladly take for his or her own Keep. Hells, he was even tempted himself the moment he laid eyes upon it. And it wasn't just because of its near impenetrableness due to the natural defenses of the island provided nor it's walls. Nor was it the fact that the keep was made entirely of black stone that almost seemed to shine slightly in the light of the sun. No, what truly drew Nox's attention was the fact that the keep almost seemed to be radiating the Force, much in the same manner as the Sith and Jedi Temples on Korriban and Tython respectively. Had they not just been to Valyria, he would've questioned as to just how such a primitive world was able to create such a strong Force construct like this. But now he didn't question it. He knew. This place, even while still a fair distance from the harbor and the keep itself, felt almost identical to the Lost City of Valyria. Only more, well, alive.

'_One of these days, once I have time, I'm going to need to travel this world more,_' he thought as they passed through the breakwater leading into the harbor while Ser Manderly barked orders at the crew to prepare to drop anchor and lower the rowboats into the water so they could go ashore. '_Winterfell was built by this Bran the Builder, who I have no doubt had the Force and used it aid in his creations. Force Forging…It has to be. A lost art that went out of style once lightsabers became more common place instead of Force Forged weaponry. Nowadays, the only Force Forging, if it could even be called that, that takes place is the creation of the armor worn by the Sith and Jedi. And even those are pale imitations of what they once were. If those with the ability to utilize the Force in a forging process are still prevalent on this world, then finding them has now become one of my top priorities._'

Getting into the boat with Jon and Talisa at his side, Nox let his senses take in as much of the island as he could. Which, unfortunately, was not much. It was almost as if the keep itself was fighting against his sight. A truly odd sensation, yet not unexpected. '_This world just keeps getting more and more interesting with each new discovery I make,_' he thought, barely managing to contain his glee at having the chance to study yet another complex that'd been designed and created with the aid of the Force. '_If this world had been discovered by the Empire, or hell even the Republic and the Jedi for the take matter, there would've been full blown civil war to decide just who got the right to rule it in each respective body of governance. Though the Jedi would've probably gone for the option of banning travel to the world until they could enlighten the 'primitives' about the power they could potentially wield. It would've been such a waste. But that is neither here nor there. And this world is mine now. And mine alone_.'

Sensing that they were getting close to the docks, Nox pulled his senses back into himself. But paused as he felt a familiar presence waiting for them on the dock. '_Well, from what I gathered of the two of them the last time we met, one is not far from the other. Which means if he is here, then so is Stannis_.'

"Ser Seaworth," Nox called out to the elder man once their boat began to be tied off onto the dock by the rowers and dockworkers, "I didn't think our arrival would warrant such a greeting from a man of your standing with Lord Stannis."

The former smuggler turned knighted land holder merely stared completely gob smacked as Nox, Jon and Talisa carefully stepped off the boat and onto the dock. "Lord Sorcerer," Seaworth greeted them with a polite bow, his accent thick and quick. "I must say m'lord, it's a wonder you're here on this day. Almost enough to make a man believe the gods really do exist in this shite world."

Now Nox's interest was fully peaked. Turning his heads upwards, he tried once more to try and find the source of the disturbance but found himself firmly rebuked by the keep. '_Whoever or whatever sent the disturbance must've done it in a single concentrated burst and then retreated into themselves. That seems to be the only way they got the sensation out past the walls of the keep_.' "Is that so, Ser Davos? And why would my appearance make one believe in divine intervention?"

Fear. Anguish. Hope. Despair all swelled within the older man in swirl of emotion, each one battling to best the other despite him keeping a calm face. "Lady Shireen, Lord Stannis's daughter, she…she's caught greyscale."

'_Now it all makes sense,_' Nox thought as the last piece of the puzzle was put in place. '_That burst was definitely from one suffering some form for torment. But it was also young. Untrained. And it also explained why there hasn't been more than the initial burst that Jon and I both sensed. She doesn't know what she's doing_.'

"Then it is _indeed_ fortunate that we are here, considering Lady Talisa here and I have been fine tuning our cure for greyscale ever since we had successfully cured four members of our crew," Nox stated, shock echoing off the old knight at his proclamation. "Jon, head back to the _Sea Wolf_ and get what supplies we need to treat the young Lady. Ser Davos, if you would please leave an escort behind to bring my Apprentice here up to the keep once he's acquired what we need, it would be appreciated. And while he's at it, I feel it best that Talisa and I begin to work on the young Lady as soon as possible."

Jon was back in the boat before Nox had even finished speaking, leaving the elderly knight stumbling to catch up as he ordered a few men to stay behind before motioning for Nox and Talisa to follow him up towards the keep. "Lady Talisa?" Ser Davos said as they walked up the winding pathway leading up the cliffs edge towards a tower stationed at the very top of the cliffs edge. "A very Essosi name, my lady…From the region of Volantis, if my ear doesn't mistake me."

Talisa's steps faltered ever so slightly. "That is correct. I – I am Talisa Maegyr of House Maegyr of Volantis of the Tiger Clan."

This time it was Ser Davos's turn to lose his footing. "Lady Maegyr? I wasn't expecting to ever see the daughter of one of Volantis's Triarchs to grace the shores of Westeros. Not anything we need to be concerned about is there, Lord Sorcerer?"

"No," Nox replied, shrugging off the concern as the neared the top of the path. "Lady Talisa here was merely looking for a chance to leave her past behind and bartered her services as a healer to our crew in return for safe passage. And I must say, it has been quite the advantageous trade. I doubt I would've been able to create this cure for greyscale without her expertise."

Talisa preened at the compliment as Davos's watchful eye flickered back and forth between the two of them. "Well, then I owe ya two my thanks now, if this works the way you say it does. Lord Stannis has sent ravens to every corner of the Realm calling on anyone and everyone who might know a way to help his only child. He's even offered a boon to the ones who are successful in healin' her. Just don't be blowin smoke, Lord Sorcerer. Lord Stannis ain't in the mood for false hope."

The three stayed quiet as they came to the top of the cliffs edge and entered a drum-like tower that was covered with effigies to dragons and many other unsightly creatures. '_Okay, I'm starting to seriously think there was a Sith Lord who crashed in Valyria at some point in time and handed down their fashion sense to the Targaryens before they came to Westeros_,' he thought as Davos led them through a doo within a dragon's maw of all things. '_This place would suit just about every Sith I have ever come across in my life_.'

Walking briskly through a throne room, which Nox briefly noticed was made almost entirely out of obsidian of all things, Davos led them towards the back of the chamber and up several flights of stairs before coming to a stop before a set of double doors that was guarded on either side by two guards. Both wearing the black and yellow stag of House Baratheon.

"This is the Northern Sorcerer, boys," Davos explained, waving towards the two of them. "And a Lady Healer from Volantis. They're here to see Lord Stannis about Lady Shireen's condition."

It was telling the amount of pull Davos had, even if he didn't know it, that the two guards immediately moved to open the doors. The interior of the room was just like the rest of the keep. Dark with obsidian carved figures of dragons and other almost demonic figures scattered along the wall. But the one thing that truly set this room apart was the gigantic table that dominated most of the room. A table that was carved into an exact replica of Westeros. It even had the major holdfasts and keeps marked along its surface. And at the far end of the table, standing with his back turned towards them so he was facing out the large window's overlooking the bay, was Stannis Baratheon.

"M'lord," Ser Davos said, walking forward to stand beside Stannis as the man turned around. "The ship was ca-"

"The Northern Sorcerer." Stannis said abruptly, cutting his man off. "And a woman from Volantis. Given what I have seen of your abilities and what many have theorized you can do, I take it that you are here because of my daughter's ailment?"

'_Nope. Still hasn't gotten that stick out of his ass. I would've figured since he's obviously married and has a child that he would've gotten laid since the last time we spoke. But either his wife or he is just a poor fuck cause he hasn't loosened up an ounce_.' "You would be correct." Nox replied. "We were passing by on our return from Valyria and sen-"

"Can you heal her?"

Biting back the retort that wanted to be free, Nox nodded. "Aye. Talisa and I have developed a technique to heal greyscale an-"

"Has it been successful?"

Now Nox was getting ready to blast the man with a bolt of Force Lightning, just to remind him just who he was speaking too. '_I hate being interrupted_.' "If you would let me finish, Lord Stannis," Nox growled, noticing that the two guards behind him both shifted their weight and readied their grips on their swords. "Then you would know that we have cured four individuals of greyscale since we left Valyria. And you two, don't even try it. You take even one threatening step towards either myself or the young lady beside me and I'll shove your heads up each other's asses."

It was only because of Lord Stannis's intervention that the two men did not immediately charge at Nox and thus seal their fate. "Leave us. Both of you." The Lord of Dragonstone commanded, his tone brokering no argument and making both men immediately bow and leave the room. "How long will this cure of yours take to administer?"

"The initial treatment could last an hour or several. It all depends on the severity of the infection." Nox explained. "After that, your daughter will need to take a specific dosage of antibiotic twice a day for at least a week or more to help fight off the remaining infection. After the antibiotics have run their course, your daughter will need to remain isolated for at least a week or more to ensure the infection does not flare up once more."

"And if it does?"

Nox merely shrugged. "Then we go through the process once more. However, of the four we have treated, all four have had all of sign of greyscale disappear within two to three weeks after going through this treatment. Though to hedge our bets, I will leave a detailed process with your Maester on how to continue her treatment should the need arise."

Stannis's face never changed once throughout the entire conversation. But he could tell that it was just an act. The man was a duck on a pond. On the surface, calm. But underneath the surface, his feet were going near the speed of sound. "What do you need?" the Lord of Dragonstone asked, breaking the long silence between the four people left in the room.

"My Apprentice is collecting what we need from our ship in order to heal your daughter," Nox informed him. "But we can begin our preliminary examination of your daughter's condition before he arrives."

Nodding, Stannis's eyes tracked towards the open doors and the two guards standing just outside. "Guard. Go and wait for the Sorcerer's Apprentice in the main hall. Bring him immediately to my daughter's chambers the moment he enters. You two, with me. You as well, Ser Davos."

Falling in step with Stannis, Talisa and Ser Davos lined up behind them as they were led further up the tower. "When did your daughter's condition become recognizable?" Talisa asked as the four climbed the stairs.

Stannis didn't give any indication of having heard her as he continued to head up the stairs. "Maester Cressen recognized the greyscale forming on her flesh a moon's turn ago. The Maester has been doing what he can to slow it's progression, but he has been unable to treat her fully."

That wasn't good. The few that they had treated were both recognized and treated within two weeks of coming into contact with the affliction. Force only knew just how far the disease was able to spread given it'd been four weeks since it was first recognized. As they reached the topmost level of the tower, Nox was immediately hit with another slight disturbance from the Force. A wail of agony and defiance. And now he had a decent idea about just who was causing the disturbance and why.

Leading them towards a door with two guards stationed on either side, Stannis didn't even spare either helmed man a glance before he strode past them, flinging the doors open and leading the four inside. "My lady! Please, you must take this! It will-"

"No!" A young voice screamed in agony. "No more! It – It – No! Please!"

Stepping around Stannis, Nox took stock of what was going on. The room was sparsely furnished, save for a desk and a large bed. And upon the bed was a little girl perhaps no older than six or seven years old. Her entire presence screamed agony stemming from the greyscale that stretched from near her eye level down past her neck and under the nightshirt she was wearing. And beside the bed was a very old man, even by Nox's standards, trying to get the young girl to drink some milky white concoction. '_Milk of the poppy if I remember correctly_.'

The moment the four entered the room, the Maester turned his attention from the little girl on the bed to them. He could feel the eyes of the man bounce off all of them, only to come back and linger on him. "Lord Stannis, please, forgive the sight. Your daughter is in a great deal of pain an—"

Not waiting for the old fool to finish, Nox stepped past Stannis and all but physically pushed the aged Maester out of the way so that he could take his place beside the young girl. Holding his hand over the girl's head, he sent gentle waves of Force into her in order to temporarily deadened the nerves in her body. Almost immediately, the young girl stopped screaming and squirming in her bed. '_She's strong in the Force. Not quite as strong as Jon. But she's definitely at Arya's level in terms of sheer power_.'

Feeling the girl open her eyes under his hand, Nox pulled back slightly on his power. "You – You're the sorcerer from the North." The young girl's voice was coarse from screaming for Force only knew how long. And deep within his darkened heart, he felt something shift within him. '_Damn it…Why do I always have such a soft spot for children?_'

"That I am, young Shireen."

Hope swelled within the young girl as a smile graced her scaled face. "Are – Are you here to help me?"

"I am," he nodded before holding his hand out over her face once more. "We can talk more later, young one. But for now, I need you to sleep." At his command, Shireen went limp as her eyes rolled back into her head.

"Gods, what have you done, sorcerer?!"

Turning his head towards the old Maester, Nox waved off the man's concern. He could almost taste the fear and distrust that was coming from the Maester. "Not what you think, old man. I merely put her into a deep sleep for the time being so that we can work on curing her. Talisa, I need you to expose the areas we need to work on. Lord Stannis, we need freshly boiled water, a wooden table she can lay on, fresh linens, and whatever vinegar you have here. Also, her current clothes, plus whatever she's been wearing since the greyscale was discovered, and her bedding, all need to be taken out and burned."

Perhaps it was the command in his voice, or perhaps it was because he'd managed to give his daughter a small semblance of peace, but Stannis didn't even hesitate before barking out orders for the guards and chambermaids to fulfill his commands to the letter. Less than half an hour later, the room had been cleared out of her bedding and clothes, and a table was brought in along with fresh linens to cover both the hard-wooden surface and to preserve the young girl's dignity.

"The greyscale has spread far, but not nearly as far as it should have," Talisa noted as herself, Nox, and the Maester examined the young Shireen while Stannis and Davos stayed as far back as they could while still being in the room. "If the first time you noticed the scaling was nearly a moon's turn ago, the spread should be far greater than what it is. She's remarkably strong willed for one so young."

Nox knew that there was more to it than that, but now was neither the time nor the place to go over the fact that the Lord of Dragonstone's daughter was not only Force-sensitive, but one of the more powerful Force sensitive individuals he'd come across on this world. Sensing the approach of his Apprentice, Nox didn't bother turning around as Jon half-ran half-skidded into the room as he attempted to slow himself.

"Master," Jon breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath while holding out the leather case containing the antibiotics and surgery tools. "I've brought everything."

"Good." Not even bothering to look back, Nox held out his hand and used the Force to pull the leather case out of Jon's hand and onto the nearby table where the case unfolded to reveal the different cutting instruments and vials of antibiotics. "Lord Stannis. At this time, there is nothing you can do to help, and this will not be pleasant. I'd advise you take yourself and my Apprentice, Jon here, down to the courtyard so that you can work off some of that famous Baratheon fury that I can sense boiling just under the surface within you. And don't feel the need to hold back on account of his age. I assure you, Jon can and has taken quite the beating in the yard many times."

Jon, knowing what was coming, didn't need telling twice and almost left a trail of dust behind him in his haste to get out of the room. Stannis hesitated only a second behind Jon. But after giving a slight nod to the Maester and a wordless command to stay in the room, he too left and was followed soon after by Davos. Dipping his hands into one of the buckets of freshly boiled water to wash them, Nox stepped to the side and allowed Talisa, followed by the Maester, to repeat the process before the three gathered around the unconscious Shireen while they each put on leather gloves that'd been provided for them. Picking up one of his makeshift scalpels, he turned it, so the blade was pointed towards him and held it out for Talisa to take. "Talisa, you're on point this time around. We'll follow your lead."

To her credit, Talisa didn't hesitate nor flinch as she took the scalpel from him before bending over Shireen near her face. "We'll begin near her eye and work down," Talisa stated, her hand steady and her voice firm as she picked up a pair of tweezers in her offhand. "Sorcerer, stand ready with water and vinegar to keep the wounds clean."

"What in the name of the gods do you think you're doing?!" the Maester shouted as he finally recognized just what was about to happen as Talisa laid the flat of the blade against Shireen's skin near the edge of the greyscale by her eye. "You cannot just flay the girl! Lord Stannis will have both of your heads when h—!"

Snapping his fingers, the Force responded to his command by clamping the Maesters mouth shut with an audible click. "Shut – up – and let us work."

Casting the Maester a not-so-pleasant look out of the corner of her eye at being interrupted, Talisa bent back over Shireen and resumed her position. Taking a single breath to steady herself, Talisa slid the blade under the greyscale, causing pus and blood to pour out from the wound. Dipping a nearby clean cup into another pail of boiled water, Nox slowly poured the water around the wound, keeping the pus and blood from blocking Talisa's view as she slowly worked her knife around the edges of the greyscale in order to dislodge the infection from her skin.

Without a way to tell time, it was difficult for Nox to tell just how long they worked. But he knew by the time Talisa had finally removed the last of the greyscale from Shireen, hours had passed and the sun was nearing the horizon, forcing her to call for torches, candles, and lamps to be brought into the room to provide her enough light to see what she was doing. During that time, the Maester had finally stopped trying to interfere and had instead taken over the duties of removing the infected flesh that Talisa cut away while Nox kept the wounds clean.

"That should be the last of it," Talisa sighed with evident relief, dark circles forming around her eyes. "Now, we need to clean the wounds with water and vinegar to disinfect it as best we can. Then, it will be your turn, sorcerer, to heal her up."

"'Heal her up'?" the Maester questioned, looking down uneasily at the exposed flesh that'd been removed while he and Talisa used a mixture of water and vinegar to clean the infection as best they could. "How do you intend to heal her from…this?"

"Simple," Nox replied with a slight smirk as. "I intend to cheat as it were."

With the wounds cleaned, Nox held his hand over Shireen and slowly pulled on the Force, shaping it to his will before laying it over the young girl like a warm blanket. The Maester stumbled back and gasped loudly as the open flesh across Shireen's face and chest reformed and closed, leaving only a slight discoloration of skin as any evidence that she had even been afflicted with greyscale in the first place.

"By the gods, old and new," Cressen breathed as he reached out to touch the freshly healed skin.

"Don't!" Talisa warned the man, stopping him from touching Shireen as she began pulling out bandages to cover the freshly healed flesh. "We don't know if the previous areas are still contagious or not. So, for the next week, the parts of her body that were marred with greyscale need to be kept covered and clean."

Sensing a familiar presence making its way quickly up the stairs, Nox stalled Talisa from bandaging the young girl. "Hold off on bandaging the girl up for a moment, Talisa. In this case, seeing is believing right now."

He could sense her confusion as to why he stopped her, but his reasoning became apparent as several sets of heavy boots marked the return of Stannis, Jon, Davos, and several guards wearing the sigil of House Baratheon.

"I have waited long enough, sorcerer," Stannis all but growled as he marched into the room. "When will you be finished?"

Purposefully standing between Stannis and his daughter, Nox took his time in removing his gloves and tossing them into a pile of other linens that were destined to be put to the torch. "Patience is a virtue, Lord Stannis. Delicate operations like this take time. Otherwise, the healers can make a mistake and make whatever they're trying to heal worse. But, in this case, your timing is impeccable as we have just finished with the first stage of healing your daughter."

Stannis didn't even wait for Nox to finish as the man crossed the distance between them so that he could lay eyes upon his daughter. Relief and joy sang out from the man as he looked upon his healed daughter sleeping peacefully on the table. All signs of greyscale gone from her person. But as quick as his joy came, it was quickly and ruthlessly stomped back down, leaving the man as blank as a droid or a Jedi. "You said this is the first stage. Yet, I see no sign on greyscale on her. What needs to be done next?"

'_So, the man has emotions. But like a Jedi he seems content to deny that they even exist_.' Moving around the room, he picked up one of the vials of antibiotics that Jon had brought with him. "Nothing invasive as what she just went through. She simply needs to take a spoonful of this twice a day. Once when she wakes and once before she goes to sleep for the night for two weeks. During this time, she needs to be kept isolated and under observation just in case the greyscale flares back up again."

"And what is that? Some sort of liquid magic, sorcerer?" Maester Cressen asked, though his tone lacked the bite it had when they'd begun the process of removing the greyscale from Shireen.

"Nothing quite as fanciful as that, Maester." Nox countered, setting the vial down. "This was created with good old-fashioned science. Nothing mystical about it. It's a concoction that's distilled from mold. It'll help her fight off the infection, attacking the greyscale still in her system. Or to put it simply, think of it as sending reinforcements onto a battlefield."

"And that will cure her?" Stannis asked, his eyes still not leaving his daughter.

"In our limited experience so far, yes." Nox nodded. "Though, I will note that we have not treated one with such an advanced condition as your daughter's. But your daughter is strong, very strong. She will pull through this."

Giving one last glance at his daughter, Stannis straightened and turned so he was facing Nox and Talisa. "I promised a boon to whoever managed to heal my daughter. You two have done what many, including my own Maester, have told me was impossible. Name your boon. And should it be reasonable, I will see it done."

"I require nothing, Lord Stannis," Talisa answered almost immediately. "I would never seek payment for healing a child."

"Well, I'm not entirely as selfless as the good Lady Talisa here," Nox added with a chuckle. "But there are two things—"

"You only get one, sorcerer," Stannis countered.

"I'm only asking for one thing, Lord Stannis," Nox countered back. The interrupting was seriously starting to grate on his nerves. "This keep is made of black stone that has drawn my interest. I request a sample of it. A single barrel full would be sufficient."

If the Lord of Dragonstone found his request odd, he didn't say it. "Done. And the second?"

"A discussion between the two of us that would be best held in private."

He could feel the irritation come from Stannis, but the man merely gave him a curt nod in response before turning and marching quickly out of the room. Keeping up with the man's brisk pace, Stannis led the two of them a short distance down the hall before opening a seemingly random door and letting Nox enter before shutting the doors behind them. Just like the few other rooms he'd encountered in the keep, room was very spartan with only a single desk and chair in the center of the room.

"What is it you wished to speak to me about, sorcerer?" Stannis all but demanded as soon as the two of them were alone.

"Your daughter's future, Lord Stannis," he said, facing Stannis.

Stannis rocked back, clearly not expecting that as suspicion and confusion wared within him. "What of her future, sorcerer?"

"Your daughter is Force sensitive, Lord Stannis. Much like myself and the Stark children under my charge. Not only that, but she is _strong_ in the Force, very strong. It's why she was able to hold the infection at bay as much as she did and why I'm confident that with a little bit of help, she will be able to make a full recovery. Given the proper training, she could become quite the powerful individual in the future."

Whatever Stannis had been expecting, _that_ was clearly not it as his suspicion and confusion were dashed almost immediately. "My daughter is…the same as you?"

"Well, not exactly the same," Nox shrugged. "She's not nearly as powerful as myself or even my Apprentice out there in terms of raw power. But given time and training, she could one day reach my level."

Moving away from him, Stannis stood with his back towards him while facing out of the lone window in the small room. "And I take it that you are the only one capable of training my daughter to use this power?"

"Yes," he immediately replied. "Take it how you will, but it is the truth. I'm sure you could find teachers in Essos or maybe even the Citadel if you're lucky. But, at best, they will be able to teach your daughter mere parlor tricks. I will teach your daughter how to use her power to the fullest."

"And what will it cost me to have you train my daughter to use these strange powers of yours?" the Lord of Dragonstone asked as he folded his hands behind his back.

"Nothing," Nox answered honestly, drawing a surprised turn of the head from Stannis. "Those of us like myself, true Sith, seek out those who are truly powerful and pass on our knowledge to them. It is by doing this that we ensure that the next generation of Force users are more powerful than the previous. So, you could almost say it is my _obligation_ to find and train those I find of sufficient power so that they might one day surpass myself." It was an oversimplification of the Sith doctrine, but Stannis didn't need to know that.

"I see," Stannis replied, turning to once again look out over the island while thinking over the offer. "The fact that you are training Lord Stark's children gives credence to your claims. And if what I saw in Stark's bastard boy in the yard is any indication, then you truly are a man of your word. However, my daughter is not yet seven name-days. She is still too young to foster."

This time, Nox didn't bother to hide his scoff. "A bull shit excuse and not the real one as for why you don't want your daughter to come with me right now."

True to his family name, fury coursed through Stannis as he spun around and faced Nox. "You presume to know what I am—?!"

"I don't presume, I know," Nox countered, not backing down. He'd faced far angrier and far more powerful than the Lord of a small island to even feel the slightest twitch of fear. "You suppress your emotions well enough to keep your face passive in order to fool those around you. But to one like me, you might as well be screaming what you're feeling at the top of your lungs. You don't want your daughter to come with me right now because of some horse shit about her not being old enough. No. Simply put, you don't want your daughter to come with me because you love her, and you're scared. For fuck's sake, you just nearly watched her suffer a terrible death at the hands of greyscale. Is it really such a crime to admit to yourself that you love that little girl and you're afraid to let her go right now after she's just been healed?"

Walking forward until they were but an arm's length apart, Nox kept his eyes, figuratively of course, trained on Stannis. "I've seen what happens to those who deny their emotions and rely only on a sense of 'duty' to guide them. They become little more than mindless drones masquerading as people. You love your daughter. There is no shame in admitting that. Instead of denying it, use it. Use your emotions to fuel your purpose and make you stronger. Make yourself better than others think you are."

An uneasy silence settled in between the two as Nox stood his ground before Stannis, neither willing to be the first to break away. In the end though, Stannis was the one to crack first as he sighed and turned around, unable or unwilling to keep facing Nox. "Is there a time when my daughter will no longer be able to learn how to use these powers of yours?"

"The younger one can begin training the better as it allows their mind to be properly melded to the use of their abilities," Nox commented. "But if you wish to hold onto your little girl a little while longer, then I would say she has to begin formal training within the next few years before she reaches the age of ten. Until then, I can give her some exercises to help her begin learning how to control her powers."

"And if she doesn't begin your formal training until after her tenth name-day?"

Nox shrugged. "Then her powers will go down one of two paths. Either they will begin to atrophy until they are next to nonexistent or she begins experimenting without proper guidance and potentially harm either herself or those around her."

The answer seemed to appease Stannis. "So, what you are saying is that I have to decide whether or not I want my daughter to receive training from you within the next three years. What does this training entail? The bastard proved himself a fine blade, perhaps one of the finest I have ever seen despite his age. Yet my daughter is no man. And she has responsibilities to uphold as a future lady of House Baratheon."

Nox wanted to bang his head against the wall. This shit was so much easier in the Empire, and even the Republic. Once a Force sensitive was taken in for training, their past lives were supposed to be of no consequence. Not that that was always true. But it was the way it was supposed to be. "Think of her training as in terms of an education given to even the highest-ranking families in this land and the education given to the Maesters of the Citadel. And then elevate said education several times over and you will have but a glimpse of what I intend to teach your daughter. She will be trained in martial prowess. It is a part of what makes us who we are. But it need not be the field she specializes in, like my Apprentice Jon. And frankly, Lord Baratheon, it is not just your choice to make here. This is your _daughter's_ life you are talking about. If you don't feel the need to give her the choice about her future, then perhaps you don't actually love your daughter as much as I thought you did."

The fury within Stannis raged once more as the man fought to keep a lid on his family's temper. '_Oh, I can't wait to get Shireen up North and begin her training. Her Family's words are 'Ours is the Fury'. What better slogan for a future acolyte of the Sith can there be but that?_'

"Very well, sorcerer," Stannis said harshly, all friendly tone gone from his voice. "I shall…consult my daughter about training under you in the future."

"Splendid." Now he just needed to plant the idea in the girl's head to want to be trained. Which shouldn't be that difficult of a task. After all, children were always very easily swayed by the arcane. "Then, with your permission, our ship will stay docked in the harbor for the night so that Talisa and I can monitor your daughter's progress throughout the night. And in the morning, I shall test your daughter's aptitude for the Force, and should she prove herself to a certain point, I will give her a few exercises to do before she comes North. Then we will leave as soon as I am satisfied. We have been away from the North for far too long. And many amongst my crew are anxious to return to their homes."

"Very well," Stannis replied, going over to his desk and writing down a quick note before handing it to him. "Give this to the first servant you come across and they will grant you and your foreign healer any room near my daughter's so you may stand vigil throughout the night. However, come morning, I will be present when my daughter awakes and when you put her through this test of yours. Now leave me. I have much to think about."

Taking the note, Nox gave the stern man the barest of nods before turning and leaving him alone. '_Well, that was interesting. Responding to a disturbance in the Force and finding another potential acolyte on Arya's level…Hmm…I must be doing something right for the Force to favor me so_.'


End file.
